


Part of the Plan

by keeperofthemoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bi!Ron, M/M, Mentions of Death, Past Ron/Hermione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-07 05:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 31,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17954174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeperofthemoon/pseuds/keeperofthemoon
Summary: “Thought for a moment there you were going to send the Killing Curse my way,” Malfoy said tensely.“Tempting. Though it’d be much more likely for me to reach over and strangle you with my bare hands,” Ron grunted, folding his arms across his chest.Malfoy sniffed.“Comforting.”When Ron Weasley signs up for tutoring his eighth year, he's not exactly happy to find out Draco Malfoy is his tutor.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Was I expecting this to be a fluff piece? No. But that's what it is and I love it! This is my first time writing Ron/Draco, so I hope you enjoy it too! And SkyRose, thank you for the awesome prompt! As soon as I saw it, I wanted to claim it.

_September_

_Week One_

“Blimey, Hermione, have you gone mad?”

Ron flopped down on the couch beside Hermione, jostling the books she had laid out on the couch beside her. She stiffened noticeably at Ron’s words before she began to collect her books to try to fit them on the table. But Ron wasn’t sure there was any room left. The table in front of her was covered by open tombs, unrolled, fresh parchment, and her notes from her classes. _How_ did she already have so much work? The first week of classes had only just ended!

Nudging her with his elbow when he didn’t get an immediate response, Ron grinned when she turned her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes were narrowed and her lips were tight in frustration. She pushed her wild hair from her face.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I see,” he said, inclining his head towards the table. “Do you have another Time-Turner me and Harry should know about?”

Harry let out a choked laugh that made Hermione’s cheeks pinken. Ginny, seated beside Harry in the large armchair, was clearly biting back a grin. Their amusement made Ron’s lips stretch wider.

“I missed a year of school, in case you forgot. I’m far behind the other students academically and I’ll need top marks in order to pursue a career in… well, in whatever I decide to go for.”

“But you picked up extra classes again, didn’t you?” Ron pressed.

“Yes.”

“Do you not enjoy free time?”

“Oh, Ron, leave her be,” Ginny said, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees, her chin in her hand. “Maybe she’d rather be in extra classes than hanging out with you.”

Ginny was teasing, Ron knew. He could tell by the way her eyes twinkled that she meant no harm. But that was only because she had no idea the state of Ron and Hermione’s relationship. She didn’t know how quickly everything had seemed to fall apart over the summer as Hermione searched for her parents and he had to deal with…

Ron swallowed thickly, aware of Harry’s gaze on his face and even more aware of the fact that Hermione had looked away from him and back down at her books. He could envision her without even looking at her—she was probably concentrating as hard as possible on _not_ paying attention to what was going on around her. He wanted to say something, anything, but feared his voice would shake and then what would everyone think of him?

“The professors will likely be harder on us this year, won’t they?” Hermione asked suddenly, breaking the strained silence. Relief flooded him at the sound of her voice and he glanced at her. “Last year’s curriculum was hardly up to standard and they have to make sure we’re ready for our N.E.W.T.s.”

“Which makes it even more mad that you’re taking more classes than normal. We don’t even really have to be here.” Harry motioned to him and Ron. Ginny rolled her eyes. “Kingsley said if we wanted to skip this year, he’d let us.”

“Yes, he’d let both of _you_ ,” Hermione corrected stiffly. “But only if you decided to begin Auror training right away.”

“I remember,” Harry said, tossing a grin at Ron. “It was tempting—”

“Insane, more like—”

“—we could be partners right now, chasing down rogue Death Eaters,” Harry continued, leaning forward eagerly and ignoring Ginny’s muttered interruption.

“Not worrying about homework or having to pay attention in class. I understood nothing during Potions today. Everything Slughorn said went in one ear and out the other,” Ron complained with a groan.

“And how is that different than normal?”

Ron glared at his sister as she smiled cheekily back. Harry laughed beside her. Traitor.

“If you’re having issues with a class, McGonagall set up a tutoring program,” Hermione informed them distractedly, waving towards the bulletin board.

Glancing at it, Ron saw that it was already almost completely covered with parchment despite it being the first week of September. Ron looked back towards Hermione.

“We don’t need that! We have you, Hermione.”

“No, you don’t.” The words came out like a growl and Ron noticeably winced. “I have no time to hold both your hands this year.”

“You’re not going to help us?”

Harry barely choked out the question, pale as though he had seen a ghost. Ron wondered if his face had lost all color also. Hermione wasn’t going to help them? That was—that was unthinkable. Did it have to do with what had happened between them over the summer? His heart squeezed at the thought. The summer couldn’t have ruined their friendship so horribly. It just couldn’t have.

If Hermione noticed the turmoil Ron and Harry were going through, she didn’t show it. She brushed the feather of her quill across her lips before answering Harry.

“You beat Voldemort last year, Harry, I’m sure you can pass your classes without my help. And you, Ron, are more than capable of getting a tutor.”

“But because I didn’t beat Voldemort personally, I’m not able to pass my classes without a tutor?”

He had said it in the hopes of amusing Hermione, not offending her further, and he was pleased to see a smile bloom on her lips. A flash of warmth went through him when she joined Harry and Ginny in laughing. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand to stem the giggles. It was like everything was normal again for a brief moment. Ron wanted to cling to the feeling so he made a show of climbing over the back of the couch and heading towards the bulletin board.

There was a sign-up sheet for tryouts for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes also had several advertisements pinned up—Ron had done so at George’s request, and given several to Luna so she could put them up in Ravenclaw’s tower. His eyes skimmed over a sheet about a Gobstone meetup and another from a first year named Randy who was looking to trade Chocolate Frog cards. Then he spotted the long signup sheet for tutors.

When Ron looked back at his friends, he was surprised to see them all watching him.

“Are you going to sign up?” Hermione asked, eyebrows high on her forehead.

“Not if you’re going to help me,” he replied hopefully.

“I’m not.”

“Well, then,” Ron grumbled, looking back at the board.

Potions had always been hard for Ron and he’d need good marks in order to be considered for an Auror position once he left school. Even if Kingsley had promised that Harry and him both had spots, he could always take it back if he saw Ron got a Dreadful on his N.E.W.T.s. He picked up the quill that was magicked to the board, twirling it between his fingers.

If Hermione was being honest, which Ron was rather certain she was, and she wasn’t willing to help him then he’d be in a spot of trouble. Sitting with someone who really understood Potions would help him. He didn’t need to do spectacular in the class, just better than a Poor or Dreadful, though an Acceptable would be nice. And the signup sheet said it would only be once a week, every Thursday. That wasn’t bad, was it?

“Harry, you don’t have that book anymore, do you? The one Snape wrote in?” Ron called over his shoulder.

He looked back in time to see Hermione’s eyes narrow, Ginny frown sharply, and Harry smile sadly.

“Sorry, mate. Left it in the Room of Requirements. Probably got destroyed in the fire.”

Ron nodded and looked back to the board. Then, feeling rather proud of himself, he signed himself up for tutoring.

~*~

_Week Two_

_Why_ had he signed up for this again? Drumming his fingers against his leg, Ron peered over the crowd that was slowly funneling into the Great Hall. He had always been rather tall but now it seemed like he towered over every student. Merlin, had there always been this many munchins here? And why had so many students signed up for tutoring?

After what seemed like ages, Ron finally entered the Great Hall. There were no familiar faces around him but that didn’t stop him from eagerly searching. It was mad, really, how packed the Great Hall was. Students of all ages crowded the four long tables. Unlike during meal time, though, the students were scattered about uncaring of house. Ron only noticed because he spotted Luna at the Hufflepuff table with a Gryffindor fourth year he recognized. Luna must’ve felt his gaze for she looked up and waved happily at him. He waved back. When she looked away from him, he grimaced. He couldn’t imagine having Luna as a tutor. Poor kid.

Walking through the crowd, he spotted Hannah Abbott with a clipboard and a trailing piece of parchment attached to it. She was directing several students to different tables. He made his way over to her.

“Hello, Ron,” she greeted cheerfully. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“‘Ello. Thought I’d give this a try. You’re assigning the tutors?”

“Everyone’s been placed already by Headmistress McGonagall but I can tell you where to go. Hmm, let’s see,” she murmured, looking over the long parchment. Near the end, she paused, eyebrows furrowing. A slight smile curled on her lips when she looked up. “Um, you’ll be at the Ravenclaw table. The end near the teacher’s table.”

There was something curious in the way she spoke; it was as though she was holding back laughter. His eyes narrowed. What was so funny? Self-consciously, Ron rubbed at his face, wondering if there was ink on it. Hannah pointed at the Ravenclaw table when Ron was slow to move.

“Just that way. Have fun.”

“Thanks,” Ron said suspiciously.

She giggled behind him as he walked away but he ignored it. Instead, he looked at the students who were already sitting. It was mostly sixth, seventh, and eighth year students as tutors but those being tutored ranged all ages. Thank Merlin. If Ron was the oldest student here, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to come back.

His gaze flitted to the end of the table as he approached it and a scowl twisted on his lips. A familiar shock of blond hair had immediately caught Ron’s eye. With absolute certainty, he knew who it was: bloody Draco Malfoy. _Of course_. He’d get no learning done with that git seated near him. And who was the poor soul that had Malfoy as a tutor? Laughter bubbled in his throat at the idea of it. Hopefully it wasn’t some first year. They’d end up scarred for life. Maybe Ron would say something to Malfoy to make sure he didn’t harass whatever student ended up with him…

His amusement disappeared with each step he took closer to the end of the Ravenclaw table. Everyone was paired off and already discussing different topics at this end of the table. Everyone… except for Malfoy. It couldn’t be—there was no way. Eyebrows furrowing, Ron slowed to a stop in front of Malfoy, who was lounging and studying his nails like they were the most interesting things in the world. Ron looked left then right but each tutor had a student and each student had a tutor, except for the ferret. There was clearly a mistake or—Ron felt his lips twitch into a smile. Hannah was pulling a trick on him. Odd of her, since she never seemed the prankster type, but it was the only thing that made sense. He turned, ready to head back to Hannah, when a horribly familiar voice made him pause.

“Come on, sit down. You’re wasting enough of my time as is.”

Ron looked at him and their eyes met. A flicker of something—heat that was tinged with hatred or anger or annoyance—shot through Ron. He had forgotten how much Malfoy’s voice grinded his nerves. Malfoy continued staring at him, jaw clenched.

“You’re my tutor?”

“Observant, you are. Now sit.”

“No, I mean—you’re _not_ my tutor. You can’t be.”

Malfoy scoffed at him.

“And why not? My marks are nearly superior to Granger’s.”

“Nearly but not quite,” Ron said under his breath, eyeing Malfoy.

A flush colored Malfoy’s cheeks.

“Sit down, you brute, before McGonagall makes her way over here.”

McGonagall. That was right—she was the one who arranged this. Ron looked away from Malfoy and around the Great Hall. This had to be some mistake. McGonagall must’ve made a mistake and if Ron went to her, explained the situation, she’d fix it. There was no way she was going to force Ron to work with him. If anyone understood Ron’s hatred of Malfoy, it was McGonagall. She certainly knew the dark history between them. And—yes! There she was, standing by a Slytherin Prefect at the entrance. Before he knew what he was doing, Ron began making his way towards the pair.

He heard Malfoy rush to his feet behind him but ignored it. After all, it wasn’t like Malfoy would curse him in front of this many students and professors. He didn’t have the guts.

“Profess—Headmistress! Sorry, er, excuse me,” Ron said, slipping by several small students. How young were they letting kids in these days? Merlin.

“Weasley, wait!”

“Go back to your spot, Malfoy,” Ron called over his shoulder. “I’ll fix this. No need to stalk me.”

“Stalk you?” He could hear the sneer in Malfoy’s voice. “This isn’t a mistake. I’m your tutor.”

“Shut up.”

“Weasley—”

“Shut it, really, before I hex you. Your voice reminds me of a shrieking banshee. It’s going to give me a headache.”

McGonagall was close enough now that Ron could get her attention if he shouted a bit. Dodging another student, Ron was ready to call for McGonagall again when someone grabbed his arm. He stopped at the contact, whipping around and meeting Malfoy’s sharp gaze.

“Let go of me,” Ron ordered, voice low.

He had sworn to himself that this year would be easy, normal, and that he would ignore the Slytherin goons as best as he could. After all, they had lost the war and most of their family members were in Azkaban. But Malfoy’s touch, warm and wrong and firm, made his mind go blank and his scalp tingle. Who the hell did he think he was?

Ron hadn’t realized he had pulled out his wand with his free hand, pressing the tip of it into Malfoy’s stomach, until he saw the git visibly swallow. His eyes tracked the movement before he met Malfoy’s gaze once more.

“I need this.”

It sounded as though Malfoy’s throat was constricted when he spoke. Ron continued studying him. Malfoy’s breathing had quickened and his grip on Ron’s arm was firm but not tight. If Ron wanted to shake him off, he could. Not only was he taller than the other boy, but he was leaner too. Since the last time Ron had seen Malfoy, it seemed he had lost some weight. There were dark purple smudges under Malfoy’s eyes too, as though he was utterly exhausted, but his lip was curled arrogantly.

“I’m warning you, Malfoy—”

Malfoy interrupted him before he could finish, his grip on Ron’s arm tightening ever so slightly.

“The old bat won’t let me play reserve if I don’t tutor you.” When Ron made a defensive sound in his throat, Malfoy breathed sharply through his nose and released him. Some relief washed over Ron at the loss of contact. “I’m banned from playing Quidditch unless I tutor you, you moron. I don’t like this anymore than you, fucking trust me on that, but I have no choice.”

“Bugger off!”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“That’s a first,” Ron snorted.

“You insolent fool,” Malfoy spat. “You think I _want_ to do this?”

Ron faltered; Malfoy’s nostrils had flared with rage, a sight familiar to Ron from their many spats. But he didn’t seem mad at _Ron_. Frowning, Ron shook his head. This was stupid. Why was he still talking to Malfoy? Turning away from the him, Ron walked towards the headmistress without another word. Ron made a show of waving to her.

“Headmistress!”

“Mister Weasley,” McGonagall greeted, turning to face him. She looked entirely unimpressed. “The point of these sessions is for you to sit and be taught, not to roam around socializing.”

“I’m not socializing!” Ron said, cheeks warming. “I swear! I just—there’s, um, been a mistake. Malfoy was assigned as my tutor. But he can’t be my tutor, right? You must’ve made a mistake.”

One of her eyebrows ticked upwards.

“Well, no, not _you_. You wouldn’t make a mistake. Something must’ve gone wrong, without you knowing—”

“Correct you are, Mister Weasley. I did not make a mistake. Mister Malfoy will be helping instruct you on your N.E.W.T. level Potions work.”

Ron blinked in surprise. She had done this on purpose? McGonagall pursed her lips, waiting for him to respond. He knew Malfoy was likely still behind him; nosey bugger was probably listening in on the conversation. Ron pointed over his shoulder.

“I can’t—I can’t work with him. I can’t.”

“Is there a list of students you’d like me to avoid partnering you with or is it simply Mister Malfoy you have an issue with?” she questioned, words dripping with sarcasm.

Normally Ron would’ve laughed that off but he couldn’t. He thought of Malfoy letting the Death Eaters into Hogwarts their sixth year. He thought of Hermione’s screams from the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. He thought of the fire that engulfed the Room of Requirements and socking Malfoy in the face after they saved him from a Dementor during the battle and he thought of all the insults Malfoy had made about his mum, his dad, his family and… and, Merlin, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sit across the rat face and not punch him again.

Ron wasn’t sure if something had shown on his face but it must’ve; McGonagall’s expression softened, her lips twitching into a small frown, before she nodded.

“If you’d like a different tutor, I’ll send Mister Malfoy back to his common room and see if there’s someone else for you to sit in with. Would that please you enough, Mister Weasley?”

His shoulders sagged in relief, thankful that she understood without him needing to explain. Ron met her gaze, hoping to express how grateful he was in a simple look, but something distracted him—a choked sound that made the hair on his arms rise. He looked behind him in surprise and found Malfoy right away, eyes closed and fingers kneading his forehead. Had that sound come from… from him?

_“The old bat won’t let me play reserve if I don’t tutor you.”_

Why was Malfoy on reserves anyway? His mind scrambled to think. He recalled Harry saying something earlier in the week about McGonagall refusing to let Malfoy retake the spot as Seeker on the Slytherin team. He had almost forgotten about that. But there was more to that, if Ron were to trust Malfoy. McGonagall took away Malfoy’s spot as Seeker but would let him play reserves—but only if he tutored a student. A student that happened to be Ron.

Why wouldn’t McGonagall give Malfoy back his spot as Seeker? Why would she require he tutor a student in order to play reserves? It was laughable to think Malfoy was so desperate to play reserves, which was honestly hardly playing at all, that he’d tutor a student of McGonagall’s choice. Laughable, pathetic, but… in a way understandable. Playing Quidditch was one of the few things Ron had looked forward to when he decided to return for his eighth year.

Ron fought the urge to groan out loud as he felt his conviction sway. He wasn’t sure why he was considering helping the prat yet here he was, hesitating over accepting McGonagall’s offer to get him a new tutor. It wouldn’t hurt him in any way if he let McGonagall send Malfoy away. Merlin knew the git deserved it. No one could blame him. McGonagall even understood why he didn’t want to work with Malfoy. This was his chance to speak and accept her offer.

He looked back to McGonagall and sighed.

“Well, Mister Weasley?”

“No. No, it’s alright, Professor. We’ll make it work.”

“Headmistress,” McGonagall corrected. “Now get back to your seats.”

It took a long moment before Ron finally turned around to face Malfoy but his hesitancy was for nothing. Malfoy was already stalking back to their seats. Ron followed, drumming his fingers against his leg nervously. He shouldn’t have agreed to this. He was an absolute loon to agree to this. There was no way Malfoy and him could share the same breathing space and be peaceful.

Ron inhaled deeply through his nose as he took the empty seat across from Malfoy. Malfoy was staring down at the table, an intense look of concentration on his face. Or maybe he was simply fighting the urge to spew vomit everywhere over the fact that a Weasley had done something nice for him.

As the silence stretched on, broken only by the voices around them, Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had assumed that Malfoy would say something—perhaps thank him?—but it was clear that wasn’t going to happen. So… so he’d have to speak first.

“Why’d she take you off the team?”

Malfoy stiffened before looking up, his eyes narrowed and lips pressed together. The reminder of his wand in his pocket comforted him at the dark look.

“Where’s your book?”

What book?

Malfoy lifted his eyebrows.

“Well?” he drawled.

“I asked you a question first,” Ron retorted.

“A question that I’m not going to answer.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not necessary to this tutoring session, Weasley,” Malfoy hissed. “Whereas the location of your Potions book _is_ necessary. So. Where is your book?”

He could feel the heat spread up his neck and color his face. For fuck’s sake, he had forgotten his Potion’s book. An idiot, he was an absolute idiot. It was clear Malfoy was thinking the same thing, a cruel smirk curling on his lips.

“I forgot it.”

“Clearly.”

“Well, you’re the tutor, aren’t you? Tutor me,” Ron challenged.

Malfoy shrugged lazily.

“Are you so used to Granger doing your work for you that you think you can learn about something without having the source material in front of you? I’m hardly a miracle worker.”

“Well, why didn’t _you_ bring a Potions book?” Ron shot back. “You didn’t bring anything with you either. You thought just having me repeat the book line for line would help me?”

Malfoy was silenced. He tapped his fingers against the table top, eyeing Ron blankly. Ron glared back, waiting for an insult. Deciding to let Malfoy be his tutor was such a stupid idea, really, Harry was either going to murder him or send him to St. Mungo’s to have his head checked—

“I’ll bring a copy of the book next week, as should you, or these sessions will be pointless,” Malfoy said, interrupting his thoughts. “Today, I suppose, we can go over what issues you had with the last Potions lesson.”

Ron blinked. Malfoy’s voice seemed carefully emotionless, professional almost. It was completely opposite from what Ron was expecting. His stomach clenched as he realized Malfoy was waiting for his answer. Admitting to Malfoy what part of the last lesson he struggled with ( _all of it_ ) seemed… seemed risky, in a way. As the seconds ticked by, Malfoy’s lips tightened and the drumming of his fingers against the tabletop quickened.

“I assume you’re here for a reason,” Malfoy drawled.

“Yeah. Yeah, I mean—”

“So, you can see why sitting in silence is not going to help this process? You realize that you staring stupidly back at me when I ask a question is going to make tutoring rather hard? Honestly, I think I feel bad for Granger. How she’s dealt with helping you in your studies—”

“Fuck off, Malfoy!”

“Come now, Weasley, you can’t be such an idiot that the whole lesson confused you.”

Malfoy paused, his eyebrows lifting, and a rush of anger hit Ron so hard he saw red. Because it _had_ all confused him. He wanted desperately to yank out his wand and hex Malfoy, to resort to the old and _normal_ way to deal with the Slytherin git. He wanted to shout. He wanted to push away from the table and storm back up to the Gryffindor tower, to apologize to Hermione for how the summer had torn them apart and ask her to help him with his schoolwork and for everything to be normal again, to laugh with Harry and Hermione about the situation that had almost been if he had decided to stay in the Great Hall with Malfoy—Malfoy, of all people!

Instead Ron closed his eyes and raised a shaking hand to them, pressing his fingers against his eyelids in the hope of relieving some of the pressure that seemed to be building there. Painfully slow, the rage seemed to disappear within him. It had been hard, the past year, to deal with his emotions. Sometimes they overwhelmed him to the point he thought he would just scream or cry or…

Ron lowered his hand, realizing that he was in the Great Hall, sitting across Draco Malfoy, barely holding himself together. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t surprised to see Malfoy staring at him. He was surprised to see curiosity in Malfoy’s gaze though. Malfoy’s head was tilted, eyes light, as he studied Ron.

“Thought for a moment there you were going to send the Killing Curse my way,” Malfoy said tensely.

“Tempting. Though it’d be much more likely for me to reach over and strangle you with my bare hands,” Ron grunted, folding his arms across his chest.

Malfoy sniffed.

“Comforting.”

Some of the students around them were beginning to stand, saying their goodbyes and thanking their tutors. Ron watched all the movement before glancing back at Malfoy. It seemed Malfoy too had been paying attention to the fact that some of the students were leaving, for his eyes were darting around the hall before landing on Ron again.

“Bring your book next week.”

Then Malfoy stood up and left.

~*~

_Week Three_

It was easier sitting across Malfoy the second time around. With his Potions book and fresh rolls of parchment ready, Ron had taken time to note what he didn’t understand in last week’s lesson so that he could have Malfoy explain it to him. _If_ Malfoy was able to explain anything without insulting Ron, that was. But Ron had a plan now.

After their first meetup, Ron had gone back to the common room and hesitated. Harry and Hermione had been sitting in their normal seats in front of the fireplace and they had been laughing and doing their homework and… and when Harry caught sight of Ron and asked him how tutoring went, his eyes bright and a teasing note in his voice, Ron had found it hard to tell them the truth. Any other time, any other year, they would’ve been the first to know that Ron had to endure Malfoy’s presence. But he hadn’t been sure how to explain his thought process in allowing Malfoy to be his tutor. He hadn’t been sure how to express his worries and anger.

Mostly… he hadn’t wanted to make Hermione feel bad and offer to help him out of guilt over him having to deal with Malfoy. Even worse, Ron had been afraid she wouldn’t offer.

So, instead, he had decided he’d go through the tutoring sessions without worrying Harry and Hermione. He’d tell Malfoy what he didn’t understand and he’d hope that Malfoy would explain it to him and that they could go through the motions without throttling each other. Malfoy would play reserves and Ron would get a decent grade. And, well, Ron was an adult now. An adult that was back at Hogwarts because he hadn’t been ready to become an Auror yet. As an adult, he could handle dealing with a git, even if the git provoked him on purpose.

“—the potion would turn purple at this point,” Malfoy clarified. “As it says here in the text.”

“But it didn’t turn purple.”

“Then you did something wrong.”

“Yeah, I know that. What did I do wrong?”

“How am I supposed to know? If you followed these instructions—”

“I can _read_. I read the instructions,” Ron growled. “That’s not the issue.”

“Isn’t it?” Malfoy remarked dryly. “I’ve never understood how anyone has issues in Potions. It’s the easiest class at this forsaken school. Read over the instructions, follow the instructions, and you have the potion you need.”

Inhale. Exhale. Don’t kill him.

“What could I have done wrong?”

Malfoy lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

“At this point, you’ve already completed seven steps of the potion. If you added too much of the African Sea Salt or put a dash too much leech juice, it won’t show till this step. I wouldn’t know unless I saw it myself.”

Their conversation so far hadn’t been pleasant but it hadn’t been as infuriating as normal. Ron was pretty sure Malfoy was making an attempt to not piss him off too much—after all, this was the longest they had gone in each other’s company without hexing each other. But frustration was building in Ron; it felt like it was about to suffocate him.

He shut his book. Malfoy’s eyes flitted down to the closed book before lifting to meet his gaze once more.

“We’ve barely covered the lesson.”

“Yeah, well,” Ron said, fisting his hands on the table so he didn’t grab the book and chuck it across the hall. “It seems rather pointless, doesn’t it?”

“Now, now, Weasley, don’t doubt yourself so horribly. I’m sure even _you_ can be taught how to brew a potion. I never considered you as incompetent as Longbottom.”

“Don’t you dare insult Neville.”

The warning made Malfoy’s lips twitch, whether in irritation at being told what to do or amusement at Ron’s anger, Ron didn’t know.

“I believe we covered last week that without looking over the source material, you’ll learn nothing.”

“Looking at the instructions doesn’t help me! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I don’t need you sitting here and reading the instructions to me, I’m not an idiot, I can bloody well read!”

Glee colored Malfoy’s face before disappearing. Ron noticed and his mood darkened.

“How do I even know you can help me with Potions?”

“You think I’m incapable?”

“Well, you haven’t helped yet!”

“It’s been barely an hour,” Malfoy snapped back, his cheeks pinkening. “We need to pinpoint where you went wrong, what you don’t understand—”

“With our imaginations? This is pointless.”

Ron stood up and grabbed his book. His outburst had caught the attention of a few students around them but he didn’t care. This _was_ pointless. If Malfoy needed to watch Ron make the potions in order to figure out where he went wrong then there was no point to this. Yeah, sure, Ron needed some stuff explained to him but he didn’t need to go over everything step by step. He just needed to know where he was messing up. Ron would need to be able to make these potions correctly for the N.E.W.T.s. There was no way to know which potions they’d test him on and this wasn’t helping him.

Malfoy rushed to his feet before Ron could walk away.

“Where are you off to?” he snarled.

“I’m not wasting my time here anymore. I’d rather take the Poor.”

“You can’t leave!”

“Why not?” Ron growled.

Malfoy pressed his lips together. It was clear he was thinking; there was a calculating gleam in his eyes. Ron waited, curious despite instinct telling him to leave while he still could.

“I’ll figure it out,” was all Malfoy said.

Disbelief clouded Ron’s face.

“You’ll figure it out?”

“Yes. Now sit and I’ll look over what you’ve done for the homework assignment.”

He hesitated, eyes still locked with Malfoy’s. After a second, Malfoy spread his arms wide and lifted his eyebrows, as though in challenge.

“I can’t make it any worse, can I?” Malfoy questioned.

Ron scowled but sat down.

~*~

_Week Four_

After Malfoy spent so much time muttering about Ron’s lack of effort on his homework assignment the week before— _“My God, Goyle was able to write sentences that made more sense than this in our first year!”_ and _“What word, exactly, were you trying to use here? Because whatever this word is isn’t real.”_ and _“I can’t believe I’m reading over this, no wonder Snape hated the Gryffindors so much, this is torture.”_ —Ron had tried harder on his homework this week. He had received decent markings on last week’s homework and knew it had solely been because of Malfoy. Even Harry had been surprised when he saw the grade.

So Ron let Malfoy look it over again. Malfoy still was complaining under his breath, eyebrows knitted together as he read through it, but Ron liked to think he wasn’t whining nearly as much as he had the week before. Ron let himself daydream as Malfoy worked so he couldn’t help but jump a little when Malfoy pushed the parchment back to him.

“No wonder you signed up for tutoring.”

Ron glanced down at the parchment. Malfoy had scratched out whole sentences and added edits in the margins to the point that most of what Ron saw was Malfoy’s tidy handwriting. He knew he’d have to rewrite but he sagged in relief, glad to have the homework basically done.

“See you next week, then.”

He rolled up the parchment and then grabbed the rest of his stuff, tossing it all into his barely held together bag. It had been Fred’s and his mum had gone to toss it over the summer, not realizing. Ron had snatched it before she could, unsure of how he’d use it at Hogwarts. It worked well for these sessions.

“Weasley.”

Ron looked up, surprised Malfoy was still across the table from him. The week before, Malfoy had edited his homework then left before Ron could even think of thanking him. _Not_ that Ron would ever thank Malfoy.

“Uh. Yeah?”

“I’ve been given permission to use an empty classroom on Tuesday nights to tutor you.”

“What?” Ron frowned. “Why?”

Malfoy’s fingers twitched on the table.

“We’ll never figure out where you’re going wrong when brewing a potion unless I can see where you’re managing to ruin it.”

Ron blinked and opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out.

“You’re free on Tuesday nights?”

“I have Quidditch practice.” Gin would have his head if he tried to skip the practices for bloody tutoring sessions.

“Then after the practices, we’ll meet.”

Malfoy left no room for argument. He stood from the table and adjusted his robes, scowling.

“Why are you doing this?” Ron couldn’t help but ask, getting to his feet also.

Malfoy’s eyes met his quickly before he looked away.

“We already have to meet on Thursdays,” Ron continued when Malfoy remained silent.

“Because you’re an idiot. In general, of course, but it seems Potions is one of many weaknesses you have.”

“I’d rather not spend half my week with you.”

“Not quite how times works, Weasley. It will only be a few hours at most. I’d rather that than have to do these meetings all year. If your grades improve, you won’t need a tutor anymore. Don’t think too much into it.”

Malfoy handed him a folded piece of parchment and Ron took it hesitantly. As the Slytherin strode off, Ron opened it. It was a classroom number, somewhere on the sixth floor. He shoved it into his pocket and started heading out of the Great Hall, glad to be rid of Malfoy.

Hours later, though, Ron couldn’t help but think of the git he had spent his afternoon with. He was stretched out on the common room floor, robes discarded and sleeves rolled up. It wasn’t cold in the common room and the heat made Ron tired but he found it easier to look into the flames and think then listen to the discussions around him.

Why was Malfoy willing to meet up another day of the week to help Ron with Potions? It seemed so… odd. Almost nice of him. As if he cared about how Ron did in class—which, Ron knew, he didn’t. The prat was hardly willing to help anyone at all but now he offered even more of his free time to help Ron. Of course, Ron was helping him too. If they weren’t meeting up, Malfoy wouldn’t be able to play reserve for Slytherin. It had only been a few days ago that Ron, Harry, and Neville had decided to go outside and relax by the lake. Ron had seen Malfoy practicing with his team, his familiar light hair catching his attention right away.

Could this be Malfoy’s way of showing his appreciation to Ron? The thought made Ron snort. Impossible.

“Something funny?”

Ron looked away from the hearth to see that Harry, Hermione, and Ginny had paused their conversation. Ginny had her head tilted, grinning down at Ron. He sat up and shrugged.

“Thinking about how badly we’re going to destroy Slytherin in our first game,” Ron lied, though he _had_ been thinking about a certain Slytherin.

Ginny’s face brightened and Harry nodded in agreement. Hermione made a sound in her throat and turned her attention back to her work.

“Slytherin’s team is almost completely new,” Ginny said, leaning comfortably against Harry. “I went to their tryouts. Their Seeker is a third year and she looked… decent, I guess. New to it still.”

“Most of the Slytherins didn’t come back for their eighth year,” Harry noted. “Except Nott, Zabini, Parkinson, and Malfoy. And they’re not playing.”

“Malfoy is,” Ron said without thinking.

“What?” Harry and Ginny exclaimed at the same time.

Ron shrugged uneasily.

“He’s the reserve Seeker.”

“I thought McGonagall kicked him off the team completely. She must’ve felt bad and let him play reserve,” Ginny mused. “Almost worse than being kicked off the team though, isn’t it? Having to go to the practices but knowing you’ll be unlikely to play.”

“I wouldn’t put it past Malfoy to figure out a way to get that Seeker injured,” Harry said, though he was frowning as if the words tasted bad in his mouth.

“He must feel horrible.”

Ron looked at Hermione in surprise. He had thought she wasn’t listening but she had lifted her head, chewing on her thumb nail as she looked at the group.

“He’s certainly superior to the Seeker they have playing now. He almost bested Harry every year. And his last opportunity to play you, Harry, he hardly has a chance of getting on the field.”

Hermione’s observation left the group silent. Ron’s stomach flipped unpleasantly inside of him. That _did_ sound awful. Malfoy had always boasted that he was better than Harry at Quidditch and he’d have no chance to prove himself this year. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat and even Ginny looked solemn. Ron ran his hand along his jaw, lost in thought over whether Malfoy was really so desperate to play only during practices that he was willing to spend an extra day in Ron’s company. The more he thought on it, the more Ron was convinced it was true.

~*~

_Week Five_

He was already tired. After Quidditch practice, where Ginny had them running laps and plays for over two hours, Ron now had to go spend time with Malfoy in some abandoned classroom. Great. Finding the classroom, he sighed and turned the knob, leaning against it with his shoulder to open the door. He stilled in the doorway.

Malfoy was already there but hadn’t heard him enter. Mumbling under his breath, Malfoy was running his finger down a page in his Potions book. Ron stared at him, surprised to have caught him unaware for once. There was no scowl darkening his face, no tension in his shoulders—he seemed relaxed, in a way. Slowly, Ron took another step in but Malfoy heard him. He looked over at him and his lip curled immediately.

“My God, Weasley, did you not _bathe_?”

Ron’s face warmed at the disgusted expression on Malfoy’s face. He hadn’t risked showering after practice, sure that Malfoy would throw a fit if he was any later than he already was. Sweat made his skin sticky and he was sure he smelled. The urge to leave the classroom, to go and shower and then return, made him take a step back.

“I’m sure you’re used the stench of a pig but I’m not quite used to the odor,” Malfoy continued, eyes narrowed to slits. “Here I am, trying to help you, and you’re trying to suffocate me with your stink.”

“I just thought—I was trying to get here fast, it’s already late—”

“Thinking is not your strong suit, clearly. Get in here, don’t bother trying to bathe now, I’ll hold my breath. Come on, I’d like to finish this before Prefects start their rounds.”

Malfoy made a show of pinching his nostrils shut. Ron pressed his lips together and took a look around the room to calm his temper that was slowly but steadily rising. The classroom was clearly abandoned, dusty and unused for how long, Ron wasn’t sure. It could’ve been left empty after the battle the year before, he supposed. There were still many parts of the castle that hadn’t been properly repaired that were off limits to students fifth year and below. Ron looked back at Malfoy, whose face was scrunched up with displeasure as he stared at Ron, and noticed that behind him he had set up a cauldron on a long table that leaned against the wall. He shut the door behind him and approached the other boy.

Ron looked at the book Malfoy had been reading. It listed the ingredients needed for the potion they were going to brew. Unsurprisingly, Ron had managed to botch it the week before during class and wasn’t sure why. Next to the book, evenly spread out, were the ingredients. Malfoy must’ve come here early to set up.

“Try not to fuck this one up, though I know how hard that will be for you,” Malfoy said with a sneer that made Ron grind his teeth.

This was going to be a long couple hours.


	2. Chapter 2

_October_

_Week One_

The Slytherin team was practicing again. Ron watched the players zip through the air on their brooms in the distance. It was easy for him to tell which player was Malfoy; he sat perched on his broom, attentive to the area around him, light hair reflecting in the sun. Malfoy still practiced with the team as though he had a chance of actually playing.

Lips twitching into a frown, Ron forced his attention away from the Quidditch pitch and back to the homework he was supposed to be doing. Hermione had suggested they work outside, as autumn had officially arrived at Hogwarts and this nice weather wouldn’t last long. Ron had agreed, because he was surprised she wanted to spend time with him alone and because the common room had felt suffocating. The sun felt nice on his face, though, and the cool breeze that ruffled his hair made the slight awkwardness between him and Hermione worth it. Ron glanced over at her. She was laying on her stomach, flipping casually through her Herbology book.

She must’ve felt his gaze on her for her eyes flitted up to his. They stared at each other for a long moment before she cleared her throat.

“You’ve been doing much better in Potions.”

Ron’s eyebrows lifted.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“No, you have been,” Hermione insisted. “Are you glad you signed up for tutoring?”

Glad? He almost laughed out loud. His lips had lifted into a smile at the thought of being _glad_ that he was stuck with Malfoy twice a week. Hermione saw his amusement and smiled too. She sat up and faced him, stretching out her legs in front of her and crossing them at her ankles.

“It helps being able to… it helps having someone point out where I mess up.”

But, of course, by pointing out he meant snarling. Malfoy had been like a hawk the week before, watching and waiting for Ron to make one wrong move as he attempted to brew the potion. When Ron almost messed up, adding a batch of berries that shouldn’t have been added for another thirty seconds, Malfoy had slapped the berries from Ron’s hand and gone off about how he needed to _pay attention_.

“Yes, I’m sure.” She paused, tilting her head to the side. “Who’s your tutor? I’m not sure you ever mentioned it. They must be quite knowledgeable in Potions.”

“Why? Because I’ve been doing so much better?” Ron asked hotly.

Hermione’s eyes widened.

“No! That’s not what I meant! I only meant—”

When she hesitated, Ron folded his arms across his chest, glaring at her.

“What did you mean then?”

“Well,” Hermione faltered. “Maybe that is what I meant. You’ve been doing much better. It’s not an insult! I don’t mean for it to be an insult at all, Ron, only that I’m glad you were set up with someone who could help you better than I had been able to.”

The panic in her voice somehow calmed him. Or, perhaps, it made the anger disappear and replaced it with guilt. He was doing better in class, he knew that. Malfoy knew it too, if the smug look he wore whenever Ron received praise from Slughorn meant anything. She only wanted to know who his tutor was. And his defensiveness was because, well, he didn’t want to tell her.

“Sorry,” Ron grumbled, arms falling to his sides. “I know you didn’t mean that. Just… it’s been Malfoy.”

“What’s been Malfoy?”

“He’s my tutor.”

Her lips parted in surprise as she stared at him. She made an odd sound, shook her head, before studying him again.

“Malfoy’s your tutor?” Hermione repeated slowly. “He’s been since the beginning?”

Ron nodded.

“Does Harry know?”

“No one knows,” he said, looking away from her.

“Why wouldn’t you tell us that?”

He thought back to that day in September, when he came back from first meeting with Malfoy and saw Harry and Hermione in the common room carefree and laughing. He thought about how strained it was between Hermione and him since the summer. He thought about how he had resigned himself to deal with it.

Ron ran a hand through his hair and grabbed some of the strands tight before releasing them. How much did he want to share with Hermione? A year ago, he would’ve told her anything. Now, he worried any small detail could throw their friendship into turmoil again.

“It… it’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” she said softly. “You hate Malfoy, Ron. Who assigned the tutors?”

“McGonagall.”

“You didn’t ask her to assign you to someone else?”

He shrugged and Hermione sighed. She could always read him well and Ron knew she was trying to figure out what he was hiding. But Ron could read her too. When she opened her mouth hesitantly, he lifted a hand to stop her.

“I’m fine. I don’t need your help. You just said how much better I’ve been doing with Malfoy as my tutor.”

“I shouldn’t have told you I wouldn’t help you,” Hermione reasoned. Her voice shook and her eyes were growing wet. “Ron, I’m—”

“Hermione, it’s fine. Really. I’m fine. It’s been over a month now and we haven’t killed each other. I’ve _wanted_ to kill the git but I haven’t.”

His teasing didn’t help the misery painted across her face. The wind ruffled their hair and Ron closed his eyes, inhaling the brisk air. When he opened them, Hermione was staring stubbornly down at the ground.

“Come on, Hermione. I’m not mad and I don’t want you to be upset. Maybe… maybe that’s why I didn’t tell you or Harry. I didn’t want it to be something bigger than it was.”

Hermione glanced up at him, eyebrows lifted. Ron knew she didn’t believe him but she didn’t press it. Instead, she let out a long breath before nodding. She accepted his lie and, with that, their friendship remained fine. It was just one more thing added to what they’ve hidden from each other since the end of the war.

~*~

Bursting through the door, Ron noted that his arrival had startled Malfoy. The git jumped, dropping the book he had been reading over. A flash of satisfaction raced through Ron and he shot Malfoy a grin.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, Malfoy.”

“You didn’t scare me,” he replied with a sniff. Then he sniffed again. “I thought we agreed you’d shower after practice?”

Ron paused in confusion, looking down at himself. He had showered; he had actually washed himself and changed into casual clothes so quickly that his hair was still dripping wet. There was no way he could still smell like sweat. When he glanced up, Malfoy was smirking. A scowl played across Ron’s face.

“Funny.”

“I suppose I hadn’t realized you always smell like a barn.”

“You’ll have to get used to it then.”

Dropping his bag on a desk, Ron approached the cauldron and ingredients Malfoy had laid out. He looked everything over as Malfoy walked up, putting the Potions book in front of him.

“We’re making a Baneberry potion?” Ron asked.

Malfoy nodded.

“Slughorn will have us start brewing poisons within the next two weeks. Wouldn’t it be nice if you could actually brew a potion properly _during_ the class and not during our sessions when Slughorn isn’t watching?” he drawled.

As much as he hated to admit it, that _would_ be nice. Normally, Ron brewed the potion wrong during Slughorn’s lessons then Malfoy would have him brew it again the Tuesday after. Malfoy would tell him where he managed to mess it up and then Ron would know for later. It would be a pleasant change to actually brew a potion correctly with Slughorn around. Slughorn had given him compliments on the turnaround with his homework but still took note of the less than standard completion of Ron’s potions.

Ron didn’t bother acknowledging that Malfoy was right. Instead he got to work. The poison was different than anything Ron had ever brewed before. It was more complicated, harder to keep track of with making sure he added the right amount of ingredients at the exact right time. When it came time to let the potion sit for twenty minutes, Ron was surprised to find he was sweating. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand.

“I managed it right so far,” he muttered to himself, eyeing the pink shade of the poison.

“Yes, you’ve managed the beginning with ease, though I must warn you the second half is much harder.”

Ron looked at him, unable to hide the worry from his face. Malfoy smirked.

“Do we test it on something?” Ron asked, unsure of what else to say now that him and Malfoy had time to waste.

One of Malfoy’s eyebrows lifted.

“How do we know the poison works? Or that it’s potent enough?” he elaborated.

“Well, I suppose we could test it on _you_.”

Ron stilled, the hair on his arms rising and his scalp tingling. He looked over at Malfoy and saw that he was busy staring at his fingernails. But the fury was slowly rising in Ron, choking him, and he hadn’t realized he moved until he had grabbed Malfoy by the front of his shirt and shoved him up against the wall. They knocked into the table that held the cauldron and it rocked dangerous but Ron didn’t care, _couldn’t_ care, as he breathed out heavily through his nose.

“What the fuck—”

“Think it’s funny, do you?” Ron growled. “Want to poison me again?”

Malfoy’s eyes went wide, frantic, at the tone of Ron’s voice but there was confusion shining through. He had always been a good actor. Malfoy yanked twice on Ron’s wrists, trying to get him to release him, but it didn’t work.

“What are you talking about you, you absolute moron! Let me go!”

“Been testing your poisons on me for years, haven’t you?”

“Weasley—”

“Are we even going to go over this in class?” Ron asked, pressing Malfoy harder against the wall. “Or were you going to laugh with your mates about this later?”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Malfoy shouted. “I’m not trying to poison you. I was—it was a joke!”

Ron leaned in close, eyes narrowed, and saw Malfoy’s pupils dilate.

“You already did poison me. Or have you forgotten?”

As suddenly as Ron had grabbed Malfoy, he released him. Malfoy fell back against the wall. Hands shaking, Ron walked away from Malfoy to the other side of the room. He couldn’t even look at the bastard. How dare he—what _fucking_ nerve—

“It wasn’t meant for you.”

The words came out breathless. Ron looked over his shoulder at Malfoy. The Slytherin looked shaken to the core, leaning heavily against the wall, strands of his hair loose in front of his face.

“It was—it was meant for Dumbledore. I didn’t think, I didn’t think anyone else—it wasn’t supposed to be given to you.”

When Ron turned around completely to face him, Malfoy straightened. His hands were at his sides now, twitching, and Ron knew he’d grab his wand this time around if Ron came towards him. In his pocket, his own wand seemed to warm, familiar and safe.

“I almost died. Me and Katie both. We almost died because of you. What did you view us as? Collateral damage? You didn’t care about who was injured in the process of pleasing Voldemort, did you?”

Malfoy stared back, chest rising and falling rapidly. The grey of his eyes was dark.

“Did you?” Ron shouted.

Malfoy flinched. Then he licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair, tidying it.

“No. I didn’t.”

A mirthless laugh escaped Ron’s lips and he looked up at the ceiling. What had he been thinking? He almost felt like he had fallen into some routine with Malfoy. They insulted each other but nothing too horrible. They worked on his Potions assignments and then they left each other be. Hermione was right. Ron _hated_ Malfoy. He should’ve never agreed—

“He was going to kill my parents if I didn’t succeed,” Malfoy spoke, voice breaking. “So. So, no, I didn’t care about who was injured. If I failed, I lost _them_ and, my God, Weasley, I couldn’t lose them.”

Ron looked away from the ceiling and back to Malfoy so quickly it hurt his neck.

“And what about everyone else? You let those Death Eaters into this school and they killed Dumbledore! If he had lived, everything would’ve been different! The war, Voldemort taking over the Ministry, everyone who died might’ve lived!”

_Fred._

_Fred might’ve lived._

Whenever Ron closed his eyes, he could still see Fred’s face right after death took him. Ron had many sleepless nights crying over the loss of his brother. Nothing would ever be the same without Fred.

Hopelessness washed over Ron and, for a moment, he felt like he was drowning. He closed his eyes, pressing his fingers against his eyelids. He’d never hear Fred’s voice again. He’d never be able to celebrate George and Fred’s birthday the same again. Every holiday would be different. Fred wouldn’t be there to congratulate him when he finally left Hogwarts. Fred wouldn’t be there to give him blunt advice about his broken relationship with Hermione. Fred wouldn’t be at the new Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes that opened in Hogsmeade and he wouldn’t be up in his old room and he was never coming back again, ever. The last thing Fred had ever done was laugh at a joke Percy made and there hadn’t been enough time, that hadn’t been enough time—

“I’m not like you. I’m not a hero. I don’t make the right choices, I—I don’t.”

Malfoy’s voice grounded Ron. He opened his eyes, took a shuddered breath, and saw that Malfoy hadn’t left his spot against the wall.

“Yeah, well, that much is bloody clear.”

Unable to bare the sight of him, Ron grabbed his bag that he had dropped on a desk and left the classroom, potion be damned.

~*~

Seamus and Dean were laughing quietly to each other across the room. Neville was already asleep, his snores even and loud. Harry was staring up at the canopy top, breathing softly. And Ron was on his back, trying to relax. But he couldn’t stop thinking about his conversation with Malfoy.

His eyes traced the gold stitching of the maroon canopy as he thought over what had happened again and again. Ron’s temper had taken over before he could stop it. Malfoy’s crack about testing the poison on him had set something off inside of him; perhaps he had been waiting for Malfoy to make one wrong move before he lost it. Now, though, Ron wasn’t sure Malfoy had made the comment maliciously. He had been caught completely off guard when Ron had grabbed him and slammed him against the wall. If he had said it to anger Ron, he would’ve likely been prepared for Ron’s reaction.

Turning his head, Ron looked at Harry. Harry’s hands were folded on his stomach, his lips taut in a frown. He wondered what Harry was thinking about. As he often did, Ron worried it was something grim. He hesitated. Maybe right now wasn’t the best time to ask him about Malfoy. If Harry was already in a bad mood…

“Ron?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

Ron could see Harry’s mouth curl into a smile and he rolled his eyes. But the nervousness crept back.

“Harry… Can I, uh, can I ask you something?”

Harry made a sound in his throat and Ron forced himself to continue talking.

“Why did you speak for Malfoy at the trials?”

Harry stiffened before turning his head and meeting Ron’s gaze. Over the summer, when the Malfoys were put on trial for their crimes during the war, Harry hadn’t told anyone he was going to go to the Ministry to speak for Narcissa and Draco. It had been in all the press the next day and Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had been completely blindsided by it. Ron had been torn between anger—they didn’t deserve to be in Harry’s good graces, the cowards, they fought against them until it was good for them not too—and rejection—why did Harry not tell Ron, his best friend, that he was going to speak for them?

Ron had bit his tongue and never questioned Harry on it. Hermione might’ve. Ginny most certainly had. But Ron and Hermione hadn’t been in a good place at the time, barely speaking to each other, ghosts of themselves, so she never told him if she talked to Harry about it and he never asked. And Ginny… well, she’d take all of Harry’s secrets to the grave.

“I don’t know,” Harry finally replied.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I… I saw they were being put on trial and I knew I had to go speak for Malfoy’s mum. If she hadn’t lied for me in the forest…” Harry swallowed thickly as Ron’s heart hammered in his chest. “So I was there, waiting for her trial to begin, but Malfoy’s started first. And he just looked… like us, you know? A kid. He’s an idiot and he was wrong but—but he didn’t tell Bellatrix it was me at the manor and he hadn’t wanted to kill Dumbledore, not really. Malfoy just had really rotten luck.”

Ron’s throat was dry. Rotten luck. Was that all it was?

“I should’ve told you I was going to go,” he continued, undeterred by Ron’s silence. “But I thought you’d try to stop me. Or…”

“Or what?”

“Or I thought it’d upset you more. It had been a hard summer and I only wanted… I only wanted us all to be okay again.”

It had been a hard summer.

Ron could feel Harry’s gaze on him, waiting for some sort of reaction. He looked at his best mate and nodded.

“I get it,” Ron said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

After a long moment, Harry muttered that he was going to bed and pulled the curtains shut around his bed. Ron continued staring up at the canopy, thinking about Fred and Malfoy and rotten luck and the hard summer that had followed the war.

~*~

_Week Two_

He hadn’t been sure the Thursday after their fight that Malfoy would show up to the Great Hall for tutoring. It showed how much Malfoy wanted to play reserve, though, because he did. They had been silent the whole time. Ron had handed Malfoy the homework he had written out, Malfoy looked over it, then they left. Apologies sat on the tip of Ron’s tongue, begging to be spoken, but Ron wasn’t good at apologizing and he couldn’t imagine attempting it with Malfoy. And in the middle of the Great Hall, surrounded by his fellow students? Not going to happen.

Malfoy remained in Ron’s thoughts throughout the weekend, though.

When Tuesday arrived, Quidditch practice had seemed to both drag on and go by incredibly fast. He had showered, grabbed his things, and ran to the empty classroom he worked in with Malfoy. Arriving outside the room, he forced himself not to hesitate. He turned the doorknob, walked in, and looked around.

Malfoy was looking at a silver pocket watch, head tilted. When Ron shut the door behind him, Malfoy glanced over him, a single eyebrow lifted. Dropping his bag on one of the desks, Ron hoped Malfoy didn’t notice how bulky the bag was compared to last time. He had a plan. Though he still wanted to apologize, he didn’t. How did he say sorry for overreacting when Malfoy had never said sorry at all? He approached the cauldron and noted that, like the other times, Malfoy had set up everything neatly for him.

Coming up on his left side, Malfoy put down his Potions book so Ron could read it and pointed with his finger at what they’d be brewing. Ron read it over quickly and a flash of guilt went through him. It wasn’t a poison, as it had been last week, even though they _should_ be working on poisons. Malfoy had been right; Slughorn had wanted them to start brewing poisons for their N.E.W.T.s. Again, the desire to say _something_ to Malfoy hit him. He ignored it.

Instead he followed the instructions as precisely as he could. When he went to stir the potion counterclockwise one too many times, Malfoy made a sound and reached out, grabbing his wrist to stop him. He let go quickly, as though Ron’s skin burned him.

When it came time to let the potion sit for thirty-five minutes, Malfoy stepped away, putting plenty of distance between him and Ron. Ron, biting his lip and feeling like there was a Bludger in his stomach, hoped his plan would work. While Malfoy kept space between them, Ron dragged one of the extra chairs in the room up to the dusty teacher’s desk at the front. Then he grabbed his bag and opened it, pulling out the various objects inside.

He could feel Malfoy’s gaze on him. Though he tried to remain silent, after a few minutes Malfoy spoke.

“This is hardly the time for games.”

“We have half an hour to do nothing.”

“So you want to play chess?” Malfoy drawled.

Their eyes met when Ron looked up. He nodded. Malfoy frowned.

“The last time we had spare time together, it… didn’t go so well. I figured that, well, we could play some chess till the potion was ready for the next step.”

Ron continued setting up the board and his pieces. All his pieces squeaked greetings to him, grateful to be in use again. He had grabbed Harry’s pieces for Malfoy and they waved to Ron too. Hopefully Harry never found out he had taken his chess pieces for Malfoy to play with; he was pretty sure Harry would kill him, despite whatever sympathy he felt for Malfoy.

Once everything was set up, Ron took a seat in the extra chair he had pulled up. Malfoy, however, didn’t come over. He remained on the other side of the room, staring at Ron and the chessboard as though they were about to hex him.

“Do you want to play?” Ron asked, slouching in the chair as he gestured to the board.

“No.”

“I’ll go easy on you.”

Maybe. It counted on how much of a prat Malfoy was being and how good he was at the game.

“ _You’ll_ go easy on _me_?” Malfoy snapped. “I’m surprised you even know how to play.”

“Come on, Malfoy, don’t be afraid.”

The challenge lingered in the air between them and a cocky smile curled on Ron’s lips. He knew Malfoy wouldn’t be able to say no to playing now. With a dramatic sigh, Malfoy slowly walked over to the empty seat. He frowned, looking over the dust, before cleaning it with a wave of his wand. Then he sat down and placed his silver pocket watch beside him, making sure he had a clear view of the time. Harry’s pieces started fussing at the sight of him.

“They have no manners, do they?” Malfoy muttered, brushing his hands together. “Shouldn’t be surprised since they come from a Weasley.”

“Not from a Weasley,” Ron corrected happily. “But close.”

Malfoy’s head snapped up to look at him, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Go on, Malfoy. We don’t have much time for me to beat you.”

Ron was surprised to see one corner of Malfoy’s lips lift as he looked over the board. It disappeared as soon as one of the pieces shouted at him, “Hope you know what you’re doing, blondie!”

It turned out Malfoy did know what he was doing. He played rather well, actually. For the first time in a long time, Ron found himself strategizing each move to make sure he won, unlike with Harry, Hermione, or Ginny, who Ron often eased up on so he didn’t beat them too badly. Malfoy and Ron got so swept up in the game that they almost missed the mark to start working on the potion again; if Malfoy hadn’t set his pocket watch up beside him, they certainly would have.

By the time they had finished the potion, it was so late they had no chance of getting back to the game. Of course, Ron hadn’t been too sure Malfoy would even want to. For once, though, Malfoy hadn’t rushed out of the room. He lingered as Ron cleaned up the ingredients. When Ron went to put the pieces back in his bag, Malfoy snarled and jumped towards him, hand stretched out.

“What?” Ron asked, frozen in surprise.

“Leave it be.”

“The board?”

“Obviously,” Malfoy sneered.

Surprise raced through Ron as he stared at Malfoy.

“You want to keep playing?”

“It helps the time pass,” he answered, shifting uncomfortably. “I’d rather not be stuck in silence with you for half an hour.”

That was… the last thing Ron had expected Malfoy to say. Sure, Ron had brought the chessboard in hopes of helping the time pass during this session and to help ease the awkwardness between him and Malfoy. But he hadn’t expected for Malfoy to like it so much he’d want to keep playing or that he wouldn’t want Ron to break down the board and start a new game the next week.

“Agreed,” Ron said after a long pause. He looked away from Malfoy and down at his chess pieces. “Don’t let anyone steal you, okay? Mum and Dad won’t be pleased if you go missing.”

The chess pieces that were left on the board began speaking all at once and Ron bit back a grin. He heard Malfoy sigh.

“It’s not like someone is going to break into this room and think, ‘Ah yes! Old, damaged chess pieces I can take!’”

“Bugger off, Malfoy.”

“How old _are_ your pieces? Ancient, by the look of them—”

Ron shouldered his bag, trying his best to block out Malfoy’s voice. Merlin, maybe the silence between them _was_ better. Even now, as he was about to leave Malfoy, he was tempted to throw himself out the window to simply get away faster. Opening the door, Ron fought the temptation to give him the bird as way of goodbye. Before he could step through the doorway, Malfoy called for him. Ron took a deep breath before turning around to look at him.

“What?”

Malfoy wasn’t looking at him, his eyes raised to the ceiling. Ron could see when he swallowed.

“She hates me.”

Ron’s eyebrows furrowed and he leaned against the doorframe, studying Malfoy. Even this late at night, his hair was slicked back to perfection, his robes immedicably pressed, his shoes still polished. Annoyance poked Ron.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Ron replied. “There are plenty of people who hate you.”

He had meant to say it jokingly but the irritation he had suddenly felt made it come out strong and harsh. Malfoy looked down for the ceiling, lips pressed together.

“You think I don’t know that?” Malfoy said.

“Who are you talking about? I’m exhausted, I’d like to get to bed—”

“You asked me why I was playing reserve. There it is. The old bat can’t stand me. She took me off the team for my actions over the years. Her allowing me to play reserve is what some might call mercy.”

Malfoy was talking about McGonagall. He was talking about why he was playing reserve Seeker and not on the actual team. Someone could’ve hexed Ron from behind and he would’ve been less surprised. But what Malfoy said didn’t make sense. Ron crossed his arms over his chest, frowning.

“Bullshit. McGonagall isn’t like that.”

She wouldn’t punish Malfoy over last year, or any other year, by taking him off the Quidditch team. It didn’t make sense.

Malfoy scowled.

“She isn’t that like with _you_ and your fellow brave Gryffindors.”

“She wouldn’t take you off the team as punishment.”

“Wouldn’t she? What’s to stop her? The Head of Slytherin, our only defender, Slughorn? You think he’d stand up to McGonagall for me?”

Ron opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out. He wasn’t sure why Malfoy was suddenly telling him this and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond to it. This session had been _good_. They hadn’t fought at all. They had got over the previous fight between them.

And for Malfoy to say that McGonagall was still be punishing him after the war was already over with, after Harry had stood on trial for him to make sure people understood he was innocent, well, it didn’t make sense. McGonagall was just and good and fair. She wasn’t like Snape, who favored the Slytherins and punished everyone else. Ron couldn’t count the amount of times McGonagall had docked points from him and Harry. But if she was punishing Malfoy for the war, could Ron really blame her?

He shook his head, wishing his thoughts were less tangled.

“You fought against us in that battle,” Ron reminded him. “I _saw_ you.”

“I went on trial for it. What else am I supposed to do? Is that not enough for you and your league of good-doers?”

Fury trickled through Ron. He wasn’t sure why.

“It doesn’t change what you did,” he snapped.

“No,” Malfoy responded softly. “It doesn’t.”

Unsure of what to say and afraid his temper would get the best of him, Ron ducked his head and left, pulling the door shut behind him.

~*~

After the fourth night of waking up before morning, drenched in cold sweat, Ron realized he had to talk to McGonagall. Malfoy admitting to him why he wasn’t playing Seeker was all he could think about. Why would Malfoy tell him that stuff about McGonagall? He had to know how highly Ron viewed her. And if he were lying…

But Ron didn’t think he was lying. No, Ron was pretty sure Malfoy had been brutally honest throughout the conversation.

So he waited for Harry to stir from his sleep and they headed down for breakfast together. He’d confront McGonagall when she left the Great Hall once she finished breakfast. Ron would ask her about it directly and she’d tell him the truth and he’d stop feeling… he’d stop feeling anything but distain for Malfoy.

He needed to know the truth.

“You okay, Ron?”

Ron blinked and looked away from the staff table to see Ginny staring at him curiously. Harry, who was next to him, was scratching his head as Hermione rambled to him about Arithmancy; neither of them heard Ginny’s question.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“You’ve been staring up there awfully long,” she pointed out quietly. “Something wrong in class?”

“No, not really. Daydreaming.”

Her eyebrows lifted. In that second, Ron hated that Ginny could always tell when he was trying to dodge a question. Where Harry or Hermione might’ve believed what he said, Ginny knew he was lying.

Ginny chewed thoughtfully on a piece of bacon but didn’t press him further. He took a bite of eggs and tried to look away from her intense gaze. It was almost automatic for Ron to search for the git who had been keeping him up the past few nights. And… there he was, sitting in between Parkinson and Zabini. Zabini seemed to be telling some elaborate story, his hands waving around as he spoke. Parkinson was laughing at him and Malfoy—he was smiling.

Ron’s heart raced and he looked away just in time to see McGonagall leaving the staff table. He rushed to his feet, startling Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. Hermione squeaked, Ginny jumped back, and Harry splashed pumpkin juice down his front.

“Sorry! We’ll meet by the lake, yeah? Spend some time in the sun?”

“Ron, where are you off to?” He heard Hermione yell but he was already racing towards the exit in the hopes of meeting McGonagall at the doorway.

He had no such luck. She had exited the Great Hall while he got stuck behind several second years. Ron had to resist the urge to order them to move out of the way. By the time he finally got out of the Great Hall, he could only spot McGonagall by the tail end of her robes. Racing after her, he almost shouted for her to get her to stop moving so bloody fast when he turned the corner and—

“Oomph!”

Ron ran into her and stumbled several steps back. She turned to look at him coolly, unimpressed as always, and he offered her a feeble smile.

“Headmistress! I, uh, was hoping I could talk to you for a minute?”

“I suppose, Mister Weasley. What is so urgent that you had to chase me down from breakfast?”

Taping his fingers against his leg, Ron shrugged and she frowned.

“Well?”

“Why’d you take Malfoy off the Quidditch team?”

It was clearly the last thing McGonagall expected him to ask. She stared at him, her eyes sharp and intense, as though trying to read his mind. Could McGonagall read minds? Was she somehow like Voldemort? Panic raced through him at the thought but, after a few seconds, she cocked her head and folded her arms across her chest.

“I didn’t take Mister Malfoy off the Quidditch team. He’s playing the reserve Seeker position this year.”

“I mean, yeah, I know that but why isn’t he playing Seeker? He has for years now. I just—”

“Did he ask you to come speak to me?” McGonagall inquired, mouth tightening.

“No! No, do you really think Malfoy would ask _me_ to do anything?” Ron pointed at himself, making a face in an attempt to show McGonagall how insane that idea was. “I was only wondering because, I mean, a third year replaced him and it’s his last year and I wasn’t sure _why_ he wouldn’t be playing Seeker for his last year.”

“Actions have consequences, Mister Weasley, as I’m sure you know.”

Something unpleasant stirred in his stomach at her response but he pushed it down. That didn’t mean anything. She could be telling him this for any reason.

“Malfoy did something, um, wrong, then?”

“Yes,” McGonagall replied snippily. “He did. If that’s all?”

“What did he do?”

“Why do you believe that is any of your business? The decisions made in this castle concerning other students are not your own to make or to know about. It is Saturday, Mister Weasley. Go enjoy the weather with your friends.”

Ron found himself nodding and waving her goodbye, feeling rather like he wasn’t in his own body. Doubt crept into his mind. And, Merlin’s beard, he was starting to think Malfoy might’ve been telling the truth.

~*~

_Week Three_

It had taken Ron over a week to gather his courage. He waited anxiously on the bench for Malfoy to arrive, his leg bouncing as he looked over his notes from class.

When Malfoy sat, automatically pulling out his Potions book, Ron took a deep breath. It was now or never. Well, actually, he could put this off another week and a half if he wanted to. Who could blame him? But it didn’t seem right. He needed to just _say_ it.

“It should’ve been you.”

Malfoy stilled when Ron spoke before lifting his head so their eyes met.

“Pardon?” Malfoy hissed.

Ron hesitated, realizing how easily he could mess up what he wanted to say. Already Malfoy seemed ready for a fight, as though Ron was going to challenge him to a duel across the Ravenclaw table. Leaning forward, so that the students around them wouldn’t hear, Ron tried to insert as much sincerity into his voice as he could.

“I mean—you obviously know this already but I just, well.” Ron paused to take a breath, suddenly unsure of why he was trying to say this to Malfoy anyway. “You should be playing Seeker. You shouldn’t be on reserve.”

Nothing about Malfoy’s expression seemed to change. Ron sat up straight, hating that his face flushed from nerves. He knew Malfoy could see it despite the nonchalance he tried to portray. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything. It didn’t matter. Malfoy didn’t _care_ what Ron thought; how many times over the years had Malfoy told him that? Ron was only a Weasley, only a Gryffindor, poor and loud and the exact opposite of Malfoy—

“You’re right. I did already know that,” Malfoy finally said haughtily.

Before Ron’s skin could prickle with anger, Malfoy reached across the table towards Ron.

“Come on, let me see your homework. We haven’t got all night to correct your errors.”

There was something soft—no, not soft, that didn’t make sense but perhaps _kind_ —in his voice that made up for his response. Ron stared, pleasantly surprised, and handed over his work.

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

_November_

_Week One_

The classroom was stifling hot. Sweat dripped down the side of Ron’s face, tickling his skin. He would’ve already wiped it away if he wasn’t concentrating so hard on brewing the potion in front of him correctly. Beside him, Hermione was quickly flipping through her book. On his other side, Harry was muttering under his breath, panic coloring his face. Glancing at the next step listed, he frowned.

Fuck. He needed more beetle eyes. How did he miscount the ones in front of him?

“Got a couple eyes to spare, mate?” Ron said out of the corner of his mouth.

“What?” Harry asked, pushing up his glasses.

“Beetle eyes. Got any more I can have?”

“No, no. Ah, hell, I think I added too much of the liver juice!”

Ron looked away from Harry to Hermione. She looked at him quickly.

“No, Ron, I used the last of my batch already. Go on, get some from the cupboard before your potion is ruined!”

He was moving before she finished her sentence. The cupboard was in the back of the room and if he waited too long his potion _would_ be ruined and he’d have to remake it during his next session with Malfoy. Ron opened the cupboard and was looking through it when someone stepped up beside him.

“Don’t forget to stir in a pinch of lemongrass once you add the eyes.”

Ron jolted at the unexpected voice and turned, meeting Malfoy’s gaze.

“Huh?”

“You heard me, Weasley,” Malfoy said softly, as though worried someone was listening in and would take note of him talking to Ron.

Ron looked around. All the eighth-year students were concentrating hard on their potions. No one was paying attention to the pair by the cupboards.

“I’d prefer if you got decent markings on this potion. It’ll make it seem as though our _sessions_ —” His lip curled slightly. “—are getting through your dense skull.”

“Very funny.”

Ron turned his attention back to the cupboard. And, ah, there they were! He grabbed the small bottle of beetle eyes and shut the cupboard doors. Malfoy lifted his eyebrows.

“What did I kindly remind you to do so you don’t fuck up this potion?” Malfoy drawled.

Ron scowled, ready to walk away without responding but… but he didn’t. Instead he looked up at the ceiling as he tried to recall what Malfoy had told him to do.

“Add the beetle eyes then a pinch of lemongrass,” he repeated.

Malfoy smirked and walked back to his cauldron. Ron grinned to himself before hurrying back to his spot as well. As he was counting out the beetle eyes, Hermione glanced at him.

“What was that about?”

“What was what about?” Ron asked distractedly.

He grabbed a bit of lemongrass and put it off to the side. Then he added the beetle eyes to the cauldron. The potion darkened considerably. Quickly, he grabbed a pinch of lemongrass and added it. Almost immediately, the potion lightened back to its original shade of mustard yellow.

“Malfoy. I saw him leave his area to go speak to you.”

Ron turned to her, surprised. How did Hermione notice stuff like that?

“Just reminded me to add lemongrass after the eyes, is all.”

Hermione frowned.

“I noticed him watching you across the room.”

“Probably making sure I don’t botch this potion.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

Her words were coated with curiosity but she said nothing else. Ron hesitantly looked at Harry; he hadn’t told him that Malfoy was his tutor and he was sure that Hermione hadn’t told Harry either. Harry definitely would’ve mentioned something about it by now. Harry hadn’t heard their brief conversation, though. His attention was completely on the cauldron in front of him. Relief flooded Ron. He wasn’t ready to deal with Harry’s reaction to Malfoy being Ron’s tutor.

Ron watched as Harry added the beetle eyes and saw that his potion darkened also.

“Add the lemongrass, Harry.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, thanks.”

They shared a grin and Ron went back to work.

~*~

He had received approval from Slughorn on his potion in class so, for once, he didn’t have to rebrew a potion with Malfoy. Instead, they were working on a new one that could potentially be taught in class in the upcoming weeks. There was a forty-minute sitting period before Ron had to do the next step: adding in five dried pieces of Gurdyroot.

“Better hope you play better against Slytherin than you are against me.”

“I’m _beating_ you, Malfoy.”

Malfoy scoffed.

“Hardly.”

“No, see here, I am—”

“Nervous about this weekend, are you?”

Ron looked up from the chessboard, scowling. The past hour Malfoy had been making little digs about the Slytherin vs Gryffindor game coming up this weekend. It was as though he knew that Ron had done _awful_ during practice before they met up today. A smirk brightened Malfoy’s face as he leaned his chin in his hand, waiting for Ron’s next move. Annoyed, Ron forced himself to focus on the board again.

“Can you shut it? I’m trying to think.”

“Must be hard for you,” Malfoy mused. “Is Saint Potter excited he has to go up against a third year Seeker who has never played a game at Hogwarts before?”

“Your Seeker will probably play a better game against Harry than you ever have,” Ron retorted, though there was no heat behind his words.

Malfoy’s smirk widened.

“And what of you? Would you like me to start up a rendition of Weasley is Our King from the Slytherin stands for old time’s sake? I’ll likely be down on the field, in case Potter or one of your hellish Beaters injures our Seeker, but I’m sure Pansy wouldn’t mind.”

Once again, Ron’s mind went blank. He knew Malfoy was purposely distracting him so that he’d make a bad move. Ron _knew_ that. Yet Malfoy teasing him, joking with him, was throwing him for a loop. The maliciousness that had hung between them for the past two months was gone, at least in this moment. If it were anyone other than Malfoy, Ron would enjoy the banter.

His cheeks pinkened.

Okay, well, maybe he did enjoy the banter a bit. Malfoy was rude and annoying but he could be a bit funny at times. Ron had decided he’d stop taking everything Malfoy said so seriously. It made a difference.

“Upset you won’t be playing?” Ron said, ignoring Malfoy’s offer to sing the song that had been the bane of his fifth year.

Malfoy lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“I must admit I don’t miss the nerves before a game. I’m far more relaxed than I normally am this time of year.”

Ron grinned, amused despite himself.

“I almost puked before every game my fifth year,” Ron admitted.

“Yes, I remember. It was rather entertaining to watch.” Malfoy paused. “Are you going to make a move or not, Weasley? My God, it’s feels like a year has gone by.”

“You’re much more annoying now that you’ve brought your own pieces to play with,” Ron grumbled, turning his attention back to the board.

Malfoy shifted in his seat but Ron forced himself not to look up at him. If he moved the bishop, that would leave—

“Perhaps because they don’t abuse me like the awful pieces you brought for me. You never mentioned whose chess pieces I was playing with, by the way. They were simply horrible.”

“Your memory is _astounding_.”

Ron bit back a smirk; he could feel Malfoy glaring at the top of his head. Finally, with Malfoy silent for longer than a minute, Ron was able to move his rook. Malfoy made a sound in his throat at the move and Ron leaned back in his seat. He stretched his arms above his head, unable to hide his delight.

“What were you saying about me _hardly_ beating you, Malfoy?”

Malfoy sneered at him. Ron leaned forward eagerly.

~*~

_Week Two_

It was quickly becoming colder outside as the days flew by. Ron pulled his knitted hat down over his ears as a chilly breeze swept across the grounds. Hermione had made him the hat years ago; when he put it on today in the common room, she had stared at it in surprise before looking away. Maybe Ron shouldn’t have worn it. He hadn’t meant anything by it. He just knew it was bloody cold out and he wanted to wander the grounds to help clear his head a bit.

For some reason, it was becoming harder and harder to stay in the common room all the time. A place he used to find solace, he now found overwhelming and stuffy. It probably didn’t help that Harry and Ginny were attached at the hip these days, often going off by themselves. Ron didn’t mind hanging out with only Hermione but sometimes he thought she might find him annoying.

Whenever it was beginning to feel normal again, something always reminded him that it wasn’t.

“Weasley.”

“Parkinson.”

Ron stumbled to a stop, surprised to see the Slytherin out on the grounds also. She crossed her arms over her chest and raised her dark eyebrows high. A scowl naturally found its way to his lips. Whatever she wanted to say, he didn’t want to hear it. He had done so well avoiding her so far this year and now, outside the greenhouses, they happened to run into each other.

“Nice hat,” she said, a smirk curling on her lips.

His cheeks pinkened but he bit his tongue. He wasn’t going to fight with her, he wasn’t going to let her bait him, he refused—

“He’ll be out in a second, by the way,” Parkinson informed him when he started to walk around her.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Ron stared at her and her smirk stretched, baring her teeth. Who was she talking about? The sound of one of the greenhouse doors shutting drew Ron’s attention away from her and he stared. Though, really, he shouldn’t have been surprised. Wherever Malfoy was, Parkinson followed.

Malfoy stopped abruptly, clearly as shocked to see Ron as Ron was to see him.

“I’m only being forced to tutor you in Potions, Weasley,” Malfoy said.

Ron’s eyebrows furrowed. What?

“Though I must say I find it absolutely amazing that you study by yourself. Unless, of course, Granger is set to meet up with you here.” He waved his hand lazily at the greenhouse they stood next to.

“I’m not here to study Herbology.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Parkinson cooed. “If Longbottom can do it, you can too.”

Ron scowled.

“Don’t talk about Neville like that,” he snapped before pausing. “Is that what you two were doing? Getting some extra lessons from Professor Sprout?”

“That old hag?” Parkinson snickered. “Not likely.”

Malfoy was smirking as he approached Ron and Parkinson. Ron glared at the witch.

“Speaking of hags,” Ron said. “I’m surprised they let you come back to Hogwarts, Parkinson.”

Parkinson’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Ron found himself reaching for his wand, just in case. But then Malfoy stood in between the two of them, clearly amused.

“Go on, Pansy dear, I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Really, Draco?”

“Yes. I’ll be right behind you.”

The glower she shot Ron was deadly but he was used to it. Parkinson continued her walk back to the castle. Malfoy and Ron stood next to each other, watching her go. Then Malfoy turned his attention back to Ron.

“You shouldn’t antagonize her so.”

“She started it,” Ron grumbled.

“Are you surprised by that?” Malfoy questioned.

“No, I guess not.”

Ron watched as Malfoy placed something in the pocket of his cloak. Malfoy must’ve noticed him watching, for he pulled it back out for Ron to see.

“For the potion we’re brewing next week,” he explained as he dumped some of the contents into the palm of his hand. They were extremely tiny seeds of all different colors. “It’s an easier potion than what we’ve been brewing but the ingredients are a bit harder to come by. I had spoken to Sprout a few weeks ago about obtaining the seeds for it from one of her plants. She had written to me this morning letting me know they were ready.”

A pleasantly warm feeling buzzed through Ron’s blood. Malfoy was taking tutoring more seriously than Ron had thought. It made him feel… well, he wasn’t sure, to be honest. Instead of attempting to express his gratitude, Ron leaned closer to get a better look at the seeds.

“I’m surprised Sprout was willing to help you with this,” Ron said without thought.

He looked up, feeling guilty over the remark, but the smirk was still on Malfoy’s face.

“Not every professor hates me, Weasley.”

“That’s a surprise.”

Malfoy breathed sharply out of his nose—if Ron didn’t know Malfoy as well as he did, he’d have thought he made Malfoy laugh.

“I need to catch up to Pansy.”

Malfoy began putting the tiny seeds back into the bag.

“I’m going to, er, keep walking then,” Ron told him, motioning to the grounds.

They nodded to each other before continuing on their way.

~*~

_Week Three_

The roar of the stands made Ron’s ears ring. He landed on the ground beside Harry, laughing. They had won. They knew they would win, that they were the better team, but they had actually done it! They had beat Slytherin! Ginny looked on the verge of tears, smiling widely. She threw herself in Harry’s arms once she too landed.

“We won, we won, we won!” Ron heard her shouting in Harry’s ear.

He grinned; Ginny had worked hard to make the team the best she could over the last two months. When she had initially been given captain, she had almost turned it down; McGonagall had offered the position to Harry first but he hadn’t wanted it. Ginny didn’t like being second choice. But after much persuasion from Harry, Ron, and Hermione, she had accepted the position. Now, Ron could see she was more than glad for it.

Ron made his way through the team, congratulating each player. The younger ones looked on the verge of being sick or bursting into tears; Ron could remember the feeling. Right now, though, he felt light, happy, carefree. He looked up to the sky and breathed in deeply. It was a good game. Only a few Quaffles made their way past him. Harry spotted the Snitch after about forty minutes and caught it, with some help from the Gryffindor Beaters keeping the Slytherin players from sabotaging it. It wasn’t surprising that the Slytherin Seeker had no chance against Harry. She had seemed resigned before she even took flight.

At that thought, Ron looked towards the Slytherin team. They had landed on the other side of the field. Right away, his attention was drawn to Malfoy, who was walking onto the field to meet them. As always, Malfoy’s expression was carefully blank as he reached his team. Ron couldn’t look away. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was because the first person Malfoy went to was the young Slytherin Seeker. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and leaned in close to her. Whatever he said made her laugh.

Ron tilted his head in surprise.

“Should I say something?”

He blinked and looked to his side. Ginny was gnawing on her bottom lip, hair windswept, her attention on the Slytherin team as his had been seconds ago.

“What do you mean?”

“To the captain,” she elaborated. “I don’t want to rub it in their faces or anything that we won but—I don’t know. It was a good game.”

“It was a good game,” Ron agreed.

“I feel like I should let them know that.”

It was clear to Ron that Ginny wanted to say more but she was hesitant. He knocked elbows with her when she was silent too long.

“What is it?”

“It would’ve been a better game if Malfoy had played,” Ginny said, her lips twisting. Ron wasn’t sure if she was disgusted with herself for admitting it or angry that they didn’t get to play the best the Slytherin team had to offer. “They might’ve beaten us.”

Ron looked away from his sister back to the Slytherin team. They were almost off the field now. He could only pick out Malfoy from the group because of his light hair.

“Yeah. They might’ve.”

“Ron! Ginny! Fantastic game!”

Ron turned and half caught Hermione when she threw herself into his arms. He let out a startled laugh. Hermione squeezed him tight before letting him go and hugging Ginny. Then Hermione leaned back, beaming at both of them.

“Seamus and Dean said they plan on throwing a party. I told them they shouldn’t, of course, but I suspect McGonagall will let this one slide. She seemed rather pleased that Gryffindor beat Slytherin,” Hermione rambled. “Though she shouldn’t show favoritism, of course, as she’s headmistress now.

Everything felt normal again. Ron sighed happily and started heading off the field with his friends. At the last moment, he glanced over his shoulder to get one last look at Malfoy but he was already gone.

~*~

He had dreamt of Fred.

He had dreamt of dust and screams and fire and the smell of magic so harsh that it burnt your nostrils and… of Fred.

It distracted Ron most of the day. He hardly paid attention in his classes; he knew Hermione and Harry had noticed but they hadn’t said anything to him about it. Instead his friends made sure to write down the notes in class carefully and let him know he could look over them if he needed. They made sure he ate something during mealtime, even if it was only an apple or a piece of toast. They kept him company, even if they were silent the whole time.

Almost every Quaffle made it past him during practice. He knew Ginny was frustrated, could tell by the way her cheeks reddened and the fact that she kept running her hands through her hair, but she didn’t yell at him either. Ron almost ditched the tutoring session with Malfoy. It was only the realization that it’d be rude of him to not show without any notice that made him walk the familiar trek to the sixth-floor classroom.

Malfoy noticed his lack of concentration too.

“No, you’re pressing the knife too hard. I showed you how to do it, like _this_.”

“I know, I know.”

“Then do it right.”

“I’m _trying_.”

“Are you? You’ve messed up almost every step of this potion so far and this potion is easier than most of the ones we’ve done already.”

Ron rubbed his eyes and grinded his teeth. If he wasn’t so tired, he’d likely be annoyed at Malfoy’s haughty tone. But he was exhausted. It felt like all the energy had been drained from him until he was moving and speaking by pure determination alone. All he had to do was finish this session with Malfoy and he could go back to the tower and crawl into bed and… and what? Would he dream of Fred again?

He reached for the bottle of honeywater and was about to pour it into the cauldron when Malfoy knocked it out of his hands. The bottle spun on the table, leaking everywhere. With a flick of his wand, Malfoy cleaned it. Fury painted his features.

“Are you mad? You’re not even going to measure it? Are you hoping instinct alone will tell you when you’ve added enough?” Malfoy hissed. “What is _wrong_ with you?”

Silence was Ron’s answer. After a tense moment, Malfoy extinguished the flame under the cauldron and began cleaning up their work area. Ron stared in surprise.

“We’re not finished yet.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Malfoy—”

“There’s no point in trying to make this potion if you’re hardly paying attention. It’s a waste of my time. These Tuesday sessions are completely unnecessary if you’re not focused on what we’re doing. Not to mention it’s extremely dangerous to attempt to brew a potion while daydreaming.”

“I wasn’t daydreaming. I was trying to make this—”

“No, you weren’t.” Malfoy’s tone softened ever so slightly. “Go to bed, Weasley. You look horrible.”

Leaning back against one of the desks, Ron scrubbed his hands roughly over his face. It was the nicest thing Malfoy could do, letting him go early without making a fuss over it. He could leave the classroom right now and head back to bed—only a minute ago, that had been exactly what he wanted to do. But now… now he found it hard to leave. If he saw Fred’s face again when he closed his eyes, he’d go mad. He would. He couldn’t do it again.

“You know what the crazy thing is?” Ron asked, throat scratchy.

Malfoy stilled in his cleaning. His back was to Ron but Ron could tell he was listening. He lowered his eyes, staring hard at the dirt that coated his shoes.

“I don’t even know where he died. I don’t remember.” His breath hitched. “I was right there when it happened but… but it was such a blur. I had been with Harry and Hermione, and Ginny too, and Percy and Fred were fighting someone and there was an explosion. And I remember hitting the ground and hearing Ginny scream and I didn’t have a grip on Hermione’s hand anymore and I had rushed to my feet. And—and everything was tilted and cloudy and wrong but I saw Percy crying and Fred was just—just laying there and we had to leave. I could barely process it even as I was trying to get Percy to leave Fred’s body. I tried to get him to leave Fred among the mess. My own brother. I was afraid. And I wanted Percy to leave him and I had grabbed Hermione and Ginny ‘cause people were trying to kill us. Harry and Percy carried Fred’s body back or else he would’ve been left there. And I don’t even remember where it all happened in this bloody castle.”

Ron’s hand was shaking when he lifted it to angrily wipe away the tears from his eyes.

“How could I forget? I kept thinking I’d get here and I’d be walking down a corridor and stop and realize that it was the corridor where Fred had died. But I haven’t. They all seem the same. And I can’t ask anyone about it, you know? How do I admit I’ve forgotten? Not only was I ready to leave his body in the corridor but I don’t even know which corridor it was. And I see—I see his face sometimes in my sleep. And no one talks about it. That we were all here months ago fighting for our lives and that our friends and our brothers died here and—”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Malfoy’s voice was low, gentle in a way, and the words on Ron’s tongue died. He looked up and watched as Malfoy straightened before turning to face him. His eyes were dark but there was something curious in the depths of them. Ron’s heart raced and he shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he said.

And it was the truth. Ron had no idea why his horrible confession had spilled from him with no control, no filter, to someone he barely liked.

What would Harry think? Hermione? Ginny?

Ron sighed.

“Probably because I can’t say it to any of my friends,” Ron grumbled.

As soon as the words left Ron, Malfoy’s demeanor changed. His jaw clenched, his eyes became guarded, his expression went blank. Ron had said something wrong, he realized, but his mind was moving too slow to figure out what.

“Yes, well, I’m not your fucking therapist, Weasley,” Malfoy drawled with a sneer. “And as I’m not one of your friends either, I suggest you tell this information to someone who cares.”

Ron frowned, his face warming.

“Hey, that’s not what—”

“I’m sure Potter and Granger would be more than happy to hear you whine about your dead brother if you were only willing to _share_ your horrible thoughts with them.”

Adrenaline rushed through Ron and he stepped away from the desk. Malfoy didn’t flinch as he approached him.

“Don’t talk about Fred like that,” Ron growled.

“Then stop adding to the list of people I got killed,” Malfoy said, voice shaking. “There’s already plenty on there. I’m not sure I can handle another one. You think you’re the only one up at night thinking about what happened here?”

Ron opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He wasn’t—he hadn’t been trying to make Malfoy feel bad. Did Malfoy really think he was blaming him for Fred’s death? Before Ron could express his thoughts, Malfoy collected his things and left the classroom.

~*~

_You think you’re the only one up at night thinking about what happened here?_

Ron drummed his fingers against the table, eyes unfocused as he stared out the window. He hadn’t been trying to blame Malfoy for Fred’s death. That wasn’t why he had told Malfoy all of that. How could Malfoy make it all about him when Ron had only been trying to open up? Or had Ron done something wrong? At one point, Malfoy had gone from friendly to aggressive.

Why?

“Are you okay, Ron?”

Hermione’s voice steered him away from his thoughts. He turned away from the window and saw that Hermione was peering at him nervously.

“Yeah, ‘course.”

“Are you really, though?” Hermione asked, twirling the quill she held in her fingers. “You’ve seemed… you’ve seemed a little, well, sad the last two days.”

Ron forced himself to smile. He didn’t want to talk about Fred and the nightmares or Malfoy and how he had somehow upset the Slytherin. Though, of course, Hermione always understood emotions better than Ron and would probably be able to explain it. But he wasn’t ready. After all, how could he tell her he saw Fred’s lifeless eyes at night? How could he tell her he was worried he fucked something up with Malfoy?

Instead, he pushed the thoughts away and put his chin in his hand, leaning on the table.

“How are your mum and dad?”

The question clearly startled Hermione, for she dropped her quill and her lips parted. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Maybe that wasn’t the best direction to steer the conversation. But then Hermione sighed and the tension left her. Lifting a hand, she rubbed at her forehead before her mouth twisted into a small, sad smile.

“Good, I suppose. They’re back home, getting used to everything again. Applying for new jobs. They rather liked Australia.” She paused. “Your mum and dad have been keeping me updated. They go to visit my parents often.”

“Yeah, Mum told me. Dad loves it over there. He keeps making your parents explain what everything is in the house.”

Her smile brightened noticeably.

“I’m glad your parents have been going over there.”

“Why wouldn’t they? Mum and Dad love you.”

“Well, yeah, I know that.” Hermione shifted, gnawing on her bottom lip. “But after fourth year, with everything that happened because of that awful woman, I hadn’t been sure your mum would… I mean, I know she cares for me but I had thought…”

Heat worked its way up Ron’s neck and colored his face. He knew right away what Hermione was referring to: fourth year, when Rita Skeeter wrote those horrible articles about Hermione breaking Harry’s heart, his mum had abandoned Hermione rather quickly. Why wouldn’t she do the same after Hermione and Ron broke it off? Of course, everyone assumed Ron and Hermione would find their way back to each other. They hadn’t exactly told anyone that they were _done_. Had they even told each other that?

Ron desperately wanted to reach out and hug Hermione in that moment, to wrap his arm around her and comfort her as he had done years before. But what if she didn’t want that? What if she got the wrong idea from it? Ron cleared his throat before he gathered his courage and reached over to grab her hand.

“You’re family, Hermione,” Ron said, squeezing her hand gently. “You are. You can’t get rid of us Weasleys now.”

Tears wet her eyes and Ron’s stomach sank. But Hermione smiled and nodded, squeezing his hand back.

“I wouldn’t trade you or your family for the world. Really.”

“Good to know,” he teased and she laughed.

The air seemed to lighten around them and Ron leaned back, relaxing in his seat. Hermione went back to writing down notes for the essay she had due and Ron’s attention drifted. He looked out the window again. Right away, he noticed a familiar person walking towards the Quidditch pitch. Ron hadn’t even realized he had pushed away from the table and stood up until Hermione called his name.

“Sorry, sorry, I, um, I’m going to go. Don’t have much to study for. Need some fresh air.”

“Ron? I can come with you—” Hermione began gathering her things but Ron waved off her attempt.

“No, don’t worry. I’m fine, honest. Stay here.”

Hermione went to speak again but Ron was already rushing away from the table. He made his way as quietly through the library as he could. When he reached the corridor, he broke out into a run. It was easy for him to dodge the other students in the halls. By the time Ron made it out the large front doors, a fine sweat had broken out across his forehead but he didn’t stop. Ron ran across the grounds, grateful that he hadn’t taken off his cloak and left it in the common room like he had planned to earlier. Merlin, it was _cold_ out.

He ran through the familiar halls of the Quidditch pitch until he got onto the field. Malfoy, who had been about to take off, looked at him in shock.

“Weasley?”

“Malfoy. I—I—” Ron stammered into silence, suddenly unsure of why he was there. It was like one second he had been happy sitting with Hermione, glad they were on the same page again, and the next he was running to Malfoy to… to fix it. He had to fix the mistake he made the night before. “I don’t blame you.”

“Pardon?”

“I wasn’t trying to add Fred to—to the list you have. I mean, blimey Malfoy, I didn’t realize you even had a list of people you think are dead because of you,” Ron said, almost desperately.

Malfoy was stiff, awkward, clenching the broom in his hand so tightly that his knuckles were white. Ron’s eyes traced over him, the tall, thin git that had managed to take residence in Ron’s head the last few months. He looked at the thick jumper Malfoy was wearing in lieu of robes. Underneath the sleeves of that jumper, the Dark Mark ruined his pale skin. Or was it gone now?

“For once you weren’t wrong,” Malfoy said, voice pitching high. “I opened Hogwarts up to the Death Eaters. I’m the reason Dumbledore was killed. It could’ve been different.”

It felt like Malfoy had reached over and cut open Ron’s chest. Everything seemed to ache. He hadn’t thought much on what he had said at their tutoring session a month ago, when he had thought Malfoy was joking about poisoning him again. But it was clear that Ron’s words had stuck with Malfoy.

“I accept that,” Malfoy continued, lifting his chin. “Your brother would likely be alive if I hadn’t chosen to follow the Dark Lord’s orders. It’s true.”

“No. No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

Ron breathed in slowly.

“Okay, maybe that is what I thought then, that you caused this, that it was all your fault and that I _hated_ you for it all. But… but I was wrong. It wasn’t up to us, none of it. We had no choice. Our actions weren’t our own during the war, not really. We were just—just the bishops in a game of chess, you know? We were disposable, we were _children_ and—and they weren’t. Dumbledore and Voldemort and—they were willing to sacrifice all of us if need be. We were on different sides of the board, that’s it, and that wasn’t up to us either. If you had my parents and I had your parents, we would’ve been—”

“Weasley, what are you talking about?”

Malfoy sounded broken and desperate. His eyes wide and _sad_. Ron had never seen Malfoy look so upset before. And Ron wasn’t even sure what he was saying at this point. Anger and frustration coated his words but they weren’t directed at Malfoy for once. No, Ron was angry at the adults that should’ve been taking care of them, that should’ve been shielding them from the war, instead of playing them like pieces on a chessboard.

“It wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you for it, not anymore.”

“Well, that’s relieving.”

Despite the sarcasm Ron knew that Draco had tried to inject into the words, he could clearly hear the relief in his voice.

“I shouldn’t have blamed you to begin with. I just—I needed someone to be angry with and I had chosen you, I guess. It wasn’t fair. But you’re not—you’re not the enemy.”

“Then what am I?”

Ron hesitated. He couldn’t believe he was even thinking about admitting this out loud. It was a fact that sat hard and uncomfortably in his stomach but it was true nonetheless and—and Malfoy deserved to know.

“A friend,” Ron croaked. “You’re a friend.”

Ron wasn’t sure what reaction he expected from Malfoy. Visibly relaxing and nodding in agreement was the last thing he expected though. They stared at each other, the soft breeze blowing and ruffling their hair. They were friends. Oddly, Ron felt like he was truly seeing Malfoy for the first time in years. He was a prat, yes, and entitled, of course. But he was just as lost as Ron was.

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair before inclining his head towards his broom.

“Want to play a quick game, then?”

“Huh?”

“A quick game of quidditch,” Malfoy repeated, slowly and with a roll of his eyes. “Or are you going to run back and let all your friends know you’ve befriended a Slytherin?”

A grin hesitantly stretched across Ron’s face.

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Ron shot back but there was no heat in his words. Then, “Yeah, give me a minute. I’ll grab one of the spare brooms.”

He ran back towards the closet, which Madam Hooch left unlock for any students who wanted to fly and didn’t own a broom. They were all old and well used. At the bottom of the closet, there were several large balls that students used instead of Quaffles. After looking over the brooms, he picked the least damaged one, grabbed one of the balls, and headed back to Malfoy.

“Guarantee I’ll still beat you on this old broom,” Ron said as he threw his leg over the broom.

Malfoy smirked.

“That broom looks about the same as your normal broom, Weasley. I’m not too worried.”

They kicked off at the same time, zooming up into the sky.

~*~

It felt like something had changed between them. Ron wondered if Draco felt it too.


	4. Chapter 4

_December_

_Week One_

“You’re giving me bad advice, Weasley.”

“What? I’m not giving you bad advice!”

“You want me to lose, don’t you? Have you and Draco struck up some deal that if you help me lose, he’ll give you something in return?”

“What could Malfoy possibly give me in return, Parkinson?”

“Oh, I have a few ideas but I’m not sure Draco wants me to tell—”

“Shut up, Pansy.”

“What does that mean? What’s so funny, Zabini?”

“Ignore them, Weasley, they’re torturing you simply for the fun of it.”

“Well, we do learn from the best, don’t we, Draco?”

Ron wasn’t sure how this had happened. He had gone to the Great Hall in between mealtimes to study because there was nowhere else to go. Hermione was in the library and on a warpath, shushing him if he breathed too loudly and slowly taking over his tiny space at the table with the many books she had grabbed and opened. The common room was full of younger students chattering and laughing, uncaring of the older students who had classes to study for. Even his dormitory was off limits—Dean and Seamus were explaining Muggle films to Neville, which reasonably led to a lot of questions and confusion from Neville. The first time Hermione had tried to explain films to Ron, he had been more than a tad lost. He still was, actually.

So he had gone to the Great Hall, ready to study in relative quiet for the upcoming Transfiguration test. But, as had often happened the last week or two, his eyes had automatically searched the Slytherin table. To his surprise, he found Draco there, pointing at the chessboard on the table in front of him, Parkinson, and Zabini. And, immediately, the trio had spotted him. Parkinson had called him over, a sly expression on her face, and… and, for whatever reason, Ron had walked over to them.

Now he was warily trying to give Parkinson advice as she played a game of chess against Zabini. Across from them, Zabini and Draco sat. Draco would randomly lean in and whisper a move in Zabini’s ear. Unsurprisingly, Parkinson questioned Ron’s advice every time he gave it to her. At this point, he was sitting there solely because he wasn’t sure how to get away from them… but he wasn’t sure he actually wanted to.

“I think I’ll move this one here,” Parkinson mused, twirling a knight between her fingers.

She glanced at Ron.

“Thoughts?”

“Why bother? You won’t take my advice anyway,” Ron said, not unkindly.

“It’s been helping Blaise immensely,” Draco noted. “So, do continue ignoring Weasley, Pansy.”

Parkinson pursed her lips and lifted an eyebrow coolly.

“Were you complimenting Weasley there, Draco?”

“He knows how to play chess, which you’re well aware of, as I told you before you called him over,” Draco drawled. “Though I’m not sure why you asked Weasley to help you if you’re not taking his advice.”

“You hadn’t been giving Blaise advice till Weasley came over here! That’s why he’s winning now, not because I’m ignoring _him_!” Pansy waved an impatient hand at Ron, who blinked, startled.

“Hello, I’m still here,” Zabini snapped. “I’m not winning because of Draco, I’m winning because I’m a better player than Pansy. I deserve credit where credit is due.”

“Yes, yes, Blaise, you’re an amazing chess player, blah, blah,” Parkinson muttered, looking back down at the board.

Ron glanced around at the trio. It was nice hanging out with them but they were certainly different than any other group Ron had hung out with before. Parkinson seemed to keep toeing the line of _something_ every few minutes that made Draco tense up. He always looked as though he was about to grab her and shake her or hex her mouth shut. But then his expression would change, cool down, and the moment would pass.

Ron wanted to know what Parkinson was hinting at. At the same time, he didn’t.

“Don’t make the move,” Ron said, when it became clear the three of them were going to continue bickering.

His words silenced the group.

“Hmph. Fine.”

She didn’t make the move. Instead, she let Ron guide her in a different direction; he leaned over and informed her of her options quietly, in hopes that Draco and Zabini wouldn’t hear. He could feel Draco’s eyes on him though, burning and bright and _knowing_. Of course Draco would know what move he’d tell her to make next. They’d been playing chess against each other for weeks now.

When Pansy went to make the move, he met Draco’s gaze and shot him a lopsided grin. It was different, Ron realized, to hang out with Draco when they weren’t actively trying to bring the other person down. To realize they were on the same page. To know they didn’t hate each other—if anything, they rather enjoyed each other’s company, whether they were playing chess or brewing potions or making fun of each other as they lapped the Quidditch pitch together.

Draco’s eyebrows twitched when Ron smiled at him but, otherwise, he didn’t react.

“Ah, fuck,” Zabini cursed. “You two might as well be playing against each other if you’re not going to let Pansy lose on her own.”

“Draco’s giving you advice also, you prat,” Parkinson shot back.

“Yes, well, I liked it better when you had no one helping you.”

Zabini and Parkinson continued arguing. Draco inclined his head towards the book Ron had placed on the table.

“Were you attempting to study for the test this week?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t find anywhere to go—”

“Weasley.”

Ron paused, confused, before realizing that Draco was no longer looking at him. He was looking behind him. Turning in his seat slowly, nervousness swept over him. It was Ginny. Head cocked and a smile on her lips, Ginny was looking at the odd group curiously.

“Malfoy,” Ginny greeted. “Parkinson. Zabini.”

Parkinson and Zabini paused in their fighting to slightly nod their heads at his sister. Ron’s mouth was dry. He hadn’t been thinking about someone he knew seeing him sitting with the Slytherins. Merlin, was Harry here too? Ron’s gaze quickly swept the Great Hall but he didn’t see his best mate.

“Ron.” Ginny turned her attention on him and he averted his eyes. “What are you—”

Abruptly, Ron stood up from the table. He knocked into Parkinson accidently, causing her to curse loudly.

“Oi, sorry about that. Time to, uh, go. See you guys,” he said awkwardly, grabbing his book off the table before waving with his free hand.

His eyes met Draco’s before he turned and began to walk away. Ginny caught up with him quickly despite his long strides. She was silent for only a moment.

“What was that?”

“Er, what was what?”

“A nice little chess game with the Slytherins? Has Hermione’s harping about interhouse unity finally gotten to you?” Ginny teased. “That was _not_ what I was expecting when I walked in here. Do you do that often?”

Ron’s face warmed.

“Why are you here, Gin?”

“I wanted to study for the Transfiguration test with you. We might not be in the same class but we _are_ , technically, in the same year and learning the same things. I went to the library looking for you and Hermione shouted at me that you were here and to leave her alone. I think she was frothing at the mouth.”

Laughter spilled from Ron and the tension eased in his shoulders. He glanced down at Ginny. She was grinning widely and winked at him. When they reached the Gryffindor table, they sat down beside each other. Ron cracked open his book to the page he had marked during class. Ginny faced him and crossed her legs on the bench.

“Are you going to tell me, then?”

“Tell you what?”

“Stop playing dumb, Ron,” she laughed. “What were you doing over with the Slytherins?”

Ron grimaced, wondering if they could hear her loud voice from the other side of the hall. Ginny noticed, her eyebrows lifting high. He might as well tell her the truth—if he didn’t, she’d bug him till he broke down anyway.

“He’s my tutor, is all.”

“Yeah, I know that, Harry told me. Which, by the way, _you_ should’ve mentioned to me at some point over the last three months but, you know, I’ll let that slide. It didn’t look like you were studying over there, though, did it?”

Ron barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He had finally told Harry that Draco was his tutor. Harry, of course, had been more than a bit surprised and confused as to why Ron hid it from him. But Ron had tried his best to seem nonchalant about it, to joke about the fact that he hadn’t killed Draco yet, and Harry had seemed to be unbothered by it all. And, really, Ron wasn’t even surprised Harry had told Ginny.

“We were playing chess.”

“Continue,” she said, grin widening. When Ron hesitated, she leaned towards him. “Are you friends with Malfoy, Ron? Can it be? Somehow, against all odds, you’re _friends_ with the almighty prat that is Draco Malfoy?”

Ron cleared his throat uncomfortably. Ginny shoved him gently with her hand.

“I don’t mind, just tell me the truth!”

Ron met her eyes, could see the honesty that shone so clearly in them, and nodded. She burst into giggles before covering her mouth with her hand.

“What I wouldn’t give to go back in time and tell your younger self that one day you would be friends with Malfoy,” Ginny said when she caught her breath. “You’d _murder_ me!”

“I want to murder you now,” Ron replied but amusement made his lips turn up. “Come on, can we study or you going to bother me about this all day?”

“Both,” she replied, eyes twinkling.

~*~

_Week Two_

Practice was cancelled because of the cold rain and harsh winds. Harry had teased Ginny endlessly when she made the announcement to the team as everyone else cheered; Wood, he had said, would’ve still made them play. Ron wasn’t complaining though. When he found out practice was cancelled, he located Draco in the corridors and they opted to meet up earlier than usual. And, for the first time since he started doing Tuesday sessions with Draco, Ron wasn’t utterly exhausted.

He relaxed in the chair across from Draco, waiting for him to make a move. When he did, Draco leaned back in his seat, eyeing Ron. Ron shifted forward, staring down at the board intently.

“Your potions skills have improved, I’ve noticed. How did you manage to make it this far without me?”

“Hmm?”

Ron looked away from the board, surprised to see that Draco was intently studying him. Curiosity made Draco’s eyes shine. All thought left Ron’s mind as he stared back at him. But then Draco sat forward and the moment was gone.

“You heard me, Weasley.”

Ron rubbed the back of his neck.

“Hermione always helped me and Harry with our work. It’s not like Snape was the best teacher.”

“Shouldn’t be surprised Granger helped you cheat your way to N.E.W.T. level,” Draco said dryly. “She won’t help you this year, then? Left you on your own?”

“Too busy with her other classes, I suppose.”

Draco seemed to hear the hitch in Ron’s voice because… something about Draco changed. Ron wasn’t sure he could pinpoint what it was exactly because it was so subtle. Perhaps it was how carefully placed his expression became. Or, maybe, the way he slowly ran his hand along his jaw. He shifted in his seat, ever so slightly, as though uncomfortable—it could’ve been that. Either way, Ron found himself holding his breath as Draco held his gaze.

“Did it not work out between you two?”

That… was not what Ron had been expecting. He released his breath slowly.

“What?”

“You and Granger—you’re not together anymore?”

His eyebrows furrowed. Draco was as still as a statue, his stare intense, as he waited for Ron to answer. Ron swallowed thickly. Immediately, he thought of the summer before. He thought of the ache deep in his chest as he laid in bed at night, thinking of the blank expression on Fred’s face as he tried to pull his friends away from the battle scene, as he tried to leave his brother’s body behind. He thought of the poison that seemed to seep into his bloodstream, of the darkness that wouldn’t leave him, because of the choices he had made and he thought of how far away Hermione seemed from him—he hadn’t reached for her and she hadn’t reached for him. Instead of healing together, they grew apart and had tried to fix themselves.

Had they ever really been together, either way? A quick kiss in the Gryffindor dormitory as they faced death? Holding hands in their sleep as they hid in the darkness of a house? They had been something, Ron knew that. But it had never developed further.

“It was a hard summer.”

“Indeed,” was all Draco said.

The Slytherin waited for Ron to continue, patient and quiet for once. Draco was the only person to directly ask him about Hermione since the war ended. It made his stomach roll—yet, at the same time, he was glad for it. Draco had insulted him more times than anyone else over the years. He was rude and proud and _horrible_. Zoning in on someone’s weaknesses, insecurities—well, Draco did that best. Whatever Ron told him now would likely be spread through the school like a wildfire, as fast and dangerous as Fiendfyre. But… but Ron didn’t care. Let Draco spew whatever he wanted. For once, Ron wanted to talk about it.

“We—I hadn’t tried hard enough. It was like this—this horrible feeling had taken over. After the war, after everything, I couldn’t—I just couldn’t fix it. Us. If there even was really an _us_ to begin with. She’s—she’s my best friend and—”

Ron inhaled shakily and ran a hand through his hair. A rush of shame and anger and regret threatened to overwhelm him; he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Weasley?”

He should’ve talked to Hermione more over the summer. He should’ve tried harder. He should’ve talked to her about his guilt and his fears. He should’ve gone with her to Australia, maybe, or asked her to stay with him just a bit longer. He should’ve never risked their friendship.

“Weasley? Weasley? Ron—fuck—”

Ron opened his eyes. For a moment, everything was blurry before he focused on Draco. Draco was reaching out to him, concern softening his expression. When Ron scrubbed a hand roughly over his face, Draco reached out to grab onto his wrist and pull his hand away.

His touch was warm.

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled.

When he spoke, Draco released him and leaned back in his seat. Ron looked down, embarrassed. But the silence between them wasn’t heavy. He could hear the potion bubbling in the cauldron. He could hear the wind that was knocking against the windows. He could hear the chatter of students walking by the classroom.

He could hear Draco’s breathing, steady and sure.

“It was a hard summer,” Draco repeated.

Ron looked up at Draco through his eyelashes. Draco was staring down at the chessboard, his fingers drumming the desktop. Stomach heavy, Ron tried to ignore the humiliation that raced through him.

“Zabini and Parkinson will get a laugh out of this,” Ron said, voice choked.

Draco looked up at him quickly.

“As much as it may surprise you, I don’t go running back to them to tell them the latest Weasley gossip.” Draco paused. “They’d likely fall asleep if I gave them reports on you after every time we met up. You don’t have the most exciting life, just so you know.”

They stared at each other. Then, against his better judgement, Ron snorted in amusement and relaxed. A corner of Draco’s mouth lifted.

~*~

_Week Three_

Ron found himself searching for Draco in the corridors, across the Great Hall, out on the grounds—anywhere Ron went, he looked for the Slytherin. It was normal, Ron reasoned. They were friends.

So when he saw Draco stalking down the path from the Shrieking Shack, hands shoved in his pockets and lips twisted, Ron slowed his walk. A familiar warmth spread through Ron at the sight of the prat. Draco noticed Ron right away, stopping and staring at him as Ron waved awkwardly. Then Draco sighed loudly and approached him.

“How did you manage to escape your pesky friends?” Draco asked.

His face was pink from the cold. Snowflakes dusted his cloak. Despite his tone, the bored expression he wore around everyone else seemed to ease into something friendly and nice. Ron was still getting used to it.

Ron cleared his throat and averted his eyes for a moment, realizing he had been staring.

“They wanted to check out my brother’s new joke shop.”

“Ah, yes. I saw that. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes has expanded to Hogsmeade.”

“Yeah.”

Ron looked over his shoulder. The shop was in the process of being renovated to reopen as Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, a project that George had started almost as soon as the war ended. Harry, Neville, Hermione, and Ginny had wanted to check in on George and the progress being made.

“Why aren’t you with them?”

“I—I was but it was, um, it was a bit too—” His breath hitched. Draco’s eyebrows lifted slightly and the knot in Ron’s chest seemed to loosen. “It was too hard. Fred’s not there. He should be there.”

And it had been hard. Walking around the store, seeing new product, seeing all the old product. Ron could remember the summer at the Burrow where George and Fred worked in their bedroom for days on end, only emerging to eat and use the bathroom. Once or twice, one of the twins would ask Ron a question that he’d have no idea how to answer. They’d jot down his reply and disappear into their room again. It felt wrong to be in there when Fred wasn’t. It was a painful reminder of his brother; Ron wasn’t sure how George managed to be in there every day.

A snowflake got caught in Ron’s eyelashes. He rubbed at it as Draco watched him. Then he frowned.

“Where are Parkinson and Zabini?”

Draco lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

“They enjoy hanging around the Shrieking Shack with Nott. I don’t like participating in childish games, so I opted to head back here.” A flash of amusement went through Ron. Was Draco still afraid of the Shrieking Shack from when Harry had scared him all those years ago? Had no one ever told him the truth? “I’d rather… I was going to get a drink from the Three Broomsticks.”

Ron’s glee died out—was that an invitation? The way Draco was looking at him almost made him think it was. But there was no way he inviting Ron to get a drink with him. Right? Even if he wasn’t, Ron had been on his way to the Three Broomsticks anyway.

“Uh, yeah. I was heading there too. It’s bloody freezing out.”

Ron overexaggerated a shiver. Draco’s mouth twisted into a small smirk before he inclined his head towards the pub. They fell into step together. Ron held the door open for Draco and Draco headed to the bar. Their shoulders bumped into each other when Ron managed to squeeze into the small spot beside Draco. As always, the Three Broomsticks was filled to the brim with other students. Rosmerta headed towards the pair quickly, smile bright when her gaze fell on Ron.

“Two Butterbeers,” Ron said, reaching into his pocket to grab some coins.

Rosmerta nodded shortly and darted away. After counting out the correct amount, Ron went to drop the coins on the bar. Draco grabbed his wrist before he could.

“Don’t bother, Weasley.”

“I can afford two Butterbeers, Malfoy.”

It was clear that Draco was fighting laughter; his eyes twinkled as he stared at Ron.

“Go on, say it. I grew up in a barn, my family is poor, how can I afford something as expensive as a Butterbeer.”

Ron waved his hand, inviting Draco to mock him. It had been weeks since Draco had truly insulted him. Draco bared his teeth in a smile.

“You know me too well. I’ll get this round. You can get the next.”

It was a curious thing that the other students didn’t seem to notice or care that Draco and Ron ordered drinks at the bar together, that they found a table off in the corner together, that they weren’t fighting or dueling or cursing each other. No one seemed to mind. No one ran off to tell the press that a Weasley and Malfoy were socializing. Ron hadn’t thought of how… risky—well not risky, they weren’t risking anything, really. Perhaps how _strange_ —it was for him and Draco to be out together in public like this.

The Butterbeer warmed Ron and he pulled off his gloves, unwrapped his scarf, and shrugged off his cloak. With so many people crammed into the pub, the air was a bit stuffy. Ron was already getting hot. But he made himself relax and stretched out his legs.

“My God, are you going to intrude on all my space?” Draco sneered when one of Ron’s feet hit one of his.

“Sorry.”

“Not enough to move, clearly.”

“Not enough to move,” Ron agreed.

They fell into silence that was only a tad uncomfortable. Ron’s eyes flitted to Draco, who was staring down at the tabletop, before darting away. This was the first time, Ron realized, that he was spending time with Draco where they weren’t actively doing something. There was no chessboard between them, no potion to brew, no mock game of Quidditch to play. It was only the two of them, alone together.

Ron thought of the delight that had raced through him at the sight of Draco only moments ago. It was perfectly natural to be happy to see a friend. They were friends. They had fun together. This was simply new territory for them. It hadn’t been hard to agree to have a drink with Draco—so why did it seem so difficult now to start a conversation with him?

If he could only thing of something to say.

But the silence stretched on and a bit of panic struck Ron.

“What’s your favorite flavor of beans?”

The question lingered between them. Heat crept up his neck, likely turning him as red as a tomato. He hadn’t meant to say that and it was clear from the confusion on Draco’s face that he hadn’t expected to be asked that. Shit.

“Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, that is. Mine is, uh, a tossup between the mashed potato or the éclair.” The tips of his ears felt like they were on fire. Why couldn’t he stop talking? “But I reckon it changes with my mood, you know? Sometimes I like strawberry best or pumpkin. Do you have a favorite? Probably the chocolate cake, yeah? Your mum was always sending you sweets.”

Draco blinked.

“How do you know that?”

“What do you mean how do I know? You always made a show of opening the packages in the Great Hall.”

“Did you want me to run off to my room to open my mail?” Laughter colored Draco’s voice. “It’s not my fault Mother wanted to make sure I was being properly fed. I had to beg her to stop sending me so much when I went off for my second year. She had been sending an owl with cakes or sweets every day.”

“She missed you,” Ron mused as he ran his thumb along the rim of his glass. “How did you manage to eat it all? Did you toss it?”

Draco scoffed, as though the mere thought of throwing away something his mum gave him was madness.

“I shared it. It was the best of the best, of course. Crabbe and Goyle were particularly fond of Mother’s parcels. They basically drooled on my shoulders whenever I’d open a package.”

The image of Crabbe and Goyle drooling on Draco made Ron toss his head back and laugh. Draco started laughing too and the tension in Ron’s shoulders eased. When his laughter died, Ron took another long sip of his drink before pushing up the sleeves of his jumper.

“Merlin, they need to open a window in here. Is it always this packed in here for our Hogsmeade trips?” Ron paused as he looked around. “Are we the oldest people in here? Other than Rosmerta?”

“I saw McGonagall and Flitwick head up the stairs. But other than them, yes, I suppose we are.”

How strange. For so long, Ron had been convinced he’d never be able to do his last year at Hogwarts. He’d never be the almost graduate, he’d never be the seventh year, he’d never be one of the students that the first years looked at in awe. The decision to come back to Hogwarts to finish his schooling, to do what was dubbed an ‘eighth year’, had been mostly because he hadn’t been ready to start Auror training yet.

Ron took another sip of his drink before realizing that Draco’s attention had strayed. No longer was he focused on the other students around the pub. No, now his eyes were fixated on Ron—well, on his arms, more like. Glancing down, Ron saw the familiar white scars that wrapped around his forearms. His lips twitched. He was neither proud nor ashamed of the scars he bore from the Department of Mysteries. At this point, his fifth year seemed so long ago. There were other scars that weighed more heavily on him.

But Draco didn’t know that. Interest glowed on Draco’s face; Ron studied the sight before laying his arms out on the table so Draco could get a better look. Two pink tints colored his cheeks when he realized Ron had caught him staring.

“Fifth year,” Ron explained, turning his arms over so Draco could see how the scars overlapped and seemed lighter than even the pale skin on his forearm. “Department of Mysteries.”

“Where you fought my father,” Draco realized, voice soft.

Hesitantly, Ron nodded. Suddenly, the air seemed heavy between them and the chatter of the students around them seemed muffled. Draco leaned back in his seat, shoulders sagging, as though the reminder of his father literally weighed him down. Ron had no idea what Draco’s relationship with Lucius Malfoy was like. All he knew was that Lucius would spend the rest of his life in Azkaban for his crimes during the war.

“If you hadn’t been sucking up to Umbridge, I would’ve invited you,” Ron joked. Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You could have some nice scars from brains like I do.”

“From _brains_?”

“Yeah.”

Draco let out a single, disbelieving laugh.

“Care to elaborate, Weasley?”

~*~

“You’re the reason you lost.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Uh, yeah it does. You were always paying too much attention to Harry.”

“To _Potter_?” The way Draco spat Harry’s name made Ron smile into his hand. “Are you absolutely mad?”

“It’s the truth. You were always following him instead of looking for the Snitch.”

“Watching me during the games, were you?” Draco questioned smugly.

Ron rolled his eyes.

“I was watching my best mate _Harry_. Who you happened to always be tailing.”

Draco’s nostrils flared, one of several indicators that he was less than pleased with this conversation. Instead of responding, Draco rolled up the parchment he had been editing for Ron and handed it back. Ron’s eyebrows rose.

“You barely wrote anything on it.”

“Yes, well.” Draco began packing up his things. “For once, your homework was adequate.”

“I must have misheard you. Are you saying that I managed to write out an essay that even you approve of?”

Draco remained silent as Ron stood up gleefully.

“I’m a genius!” Ron cried out, startling the students around them. “I’ve finally begun to understand Potions!”

“Ah, yes, all by yourself.”

“Would you like some credit, Malfoy?” Ron asked as Draco made his way over to Ron’s side of the table.

They had taken to walking out of the Great Hall together before splitting up and heading their separate ways. Draco looked up at Ron, clearly unimpressed.

“Would it make you feel better?” Ron prodded. “Do you want the world to know a Malfoy managed to teach a Weasley something?”

“My father likely got hit with a wave of nausea just now.”

“Well, my ancestors won’t be too pleased either if it makes you feel better.”

They made their way out of the Great Hall, snickering. When they turned to go their separate ways, they held each other’s gazes for a long second before looking away. Ron hopped up the stairs. Hopefully, Harry and Hermione were both in the common room still. Christmas break was approaching and Ron wanted to see what his friends were up to. He was sure Harry would be staying at the Burrow with them, as he had most Christmases, but he wasn’t sure about Hermione.

She’d likely want to go home to be with her parents. She had been feeling horribly guilty about leaving them after their memories were returned. Maybe Harry and Ron could spend a night or two there with her, so she didn’t feel like she was missing out. Or, better yet, maybe they could do Christmas Eve with Hermione and her parents and make sure they were back at the Burrow for Christmas morning—

“Hello, Ron!”

Neville waved at Ron as he finished tying his shoe. Ron slowed down so that they could continue to the tower together.

“Coming from the library?”

“Yeah. Hannah wanted to look over the notes I took in Herbology.”

“Oh yeah?” Ron asked, grinning. Hannah and Neville had been spending a lot of time together recently. “She owes me an apology.”

Neville’s lips parted in surprise.

“About what? Did something happen? She didn’t say—”

“No, no, I’m only joking,” he quickly said. “She had—well, I’m being tutored in Potions, yeah? Hannah knew Malfoy was going to be my tutor. He is my tutor still. But she didn’t really _tell_ me. Instead she let me stumble upon the prat with no idea that McGonagall had assigned him to me.”

Neville laughed nervously, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should be laughing or not.

“I had thought you and Malfoy liked each other?”

“Oh.”

Ron’s face scrunched up in surprise and he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. Well, yeah, they were friends so that meant they did like each other. Did it throw Neville off because Ron had called Draco a prat? Suddenly, Ron wondered how Draco talked about their relationship to his own housemates and friends. Was there a chance Draco spoke kindly about Ron?

“Well, yeah, we’re friends. I shouldn’t have called him that. He’s not nearly as horrible as he used to be.”

Something in Neville’s expression changed.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“C’mon, tell me.”

“I, uh, no, I mean—never mind. Just forget it.”

“I’m not nearly as good at forgetting things as you are,” Ron joked, not unkindly.

Neville was clearly nervous. Twisting his hands in front of him, he looked up at Ron quickly twice before finally taking a deep breath.

“I only thought that you both _liked_ each other.”

“I already told you we did. We’re friends.”

“I meant—I just meant more than that.”

Ron stopped in his tracks. A startled laugh escaped his lips. Neville had thought _what_? That was insane. Absolutely mad. He must be joking. Eyes tracing over his friend’s face, Ron quickly realized that Neville wasn’t joking. His apprehension alone told Ron that Neville very much wished this conversation would end.

“Why—” The word almost choked Ron. He swallowed before trying again. “Why would you think that?”

No answer was given. Did everyone think that? Was it some running joke behind his back? He thought of the laughter he shared with Draco as they left the Great Hall. Did people think because of that that Ron had some sort _crush_ on Draco? Panic was rising in him. His palms were sweaty. He leaned against the wall heavily.

“Neville.”

There was a pleading note in his voice.

“I saw you,” Neville whispered. Ron had to strain to hear him over the passing by of other students. “In the Three Broomsticks. We had left your brother’s shop and been looking for you and… I saw you and Malfoy sitting there. You both seemed happy, that’s all, and—I don’t know. You were both happy.”

“So you thought I fancied him?” Ron croaked.

“I thought he fancied you too!”

As if that made it any better.

Ron groaned loudly. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he continued his walk down the corridor, though this time at a faster pace. Neville thought they fancied each other? Sure, the time Ron spent with Draco at the Three Broomsticks had been fun but, Merlin, Neville thought they had been on a date?

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything by it. I had only assumed! I shouldn’t have!”

There was a tremor in Neville’s voice that made Ron slow his strides so the other boy could catch up. His friend’s face had a gleam of sweat on it, whether from nerves or terror or from running to catch up to Ron, he wasn’t sure. Ron bit the inside of his mouth. It wasn’t Neville’s fault that he thought that. Him and Draco _had_ had fun that day, until Parkinson and Zabini barged in.

“I’m sorry, Ron.”

“It’s fine, Neville, you didn’t do anything wrong.” He paused. “Why didn’t you tell Harry and them I was in there if you had found me?”

Neville shrugged, clearly relieved.

“Didn’t want us to bother you guys.”

Ron gave Neville a tiny smile despite the flutter of _something_ in his stomach. They headed back to the tower in silence.

~*~

_Week Four_

He was a handsome bloke. Ron had never thought it before but he couldn’t deny it now. It was likely because he finally _knew_ Draco Malfoy. There was an understanding between them. Despite being snarky and rude the majority of the time, there were moments when Draco was kind. It wasn’t hard for Ron to talk to him—to really talk to him. He could tell Draco his fears and concerns, confess his guilt over Fred, and there was no judgement.

Ron’s eyes traced over Draco’s face.

Or had he always been handsome but had simply been too much of a prat for Ron to notice? After all, it wasn’t like Ron didn’t notice and appreciate attractive blokes. Viktor Krum had always caught Ron’s attention, though for a while Ron had thought it was because he had envied his Quidditch skills so much. It didn’t take long to realize his jealousy over Krum and Hermione going to the Yule Ball together wasn’t solely concerning Hermione. Ron had also always thought Lee Jordan was fit; Lee came over often to see Fred and George on holidays and summer breaks and Ron would follow the trio like a shadow until one of his brothers yelled at him.

Bloody Neville.

Ron had never paid that much attention to Draco’s features before, except to mock them. Now, he found himself studying the Slytherin more intently than he cared for. And he couldn’t stop now that he had started because, Merlin, there was something there that made his blood rush.

A piece of Draco’s hair had fallen and curled on his forehead from the steam of the potion they were brewing. Ron could tell it was bothering him but he seemed to have forgotten about it now that they were in conversation. It made Draco look less harsh and more likeable. His sharp features didn’t soften but the fallen blond curl made his eyes look larger and bluer. To be honest, Ron found he rather liked it—

“Why are you looking at me like that, Weasley?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Draco drawled.

He didn’t lift his eyes from the chessboard but Ron still felt like he was being examined. Draco’s pointer finger tapped a ready rhythm on the tip of the queen. Ron licked his lips.

“I’m not sure I’ve seen someone take so long to make a move, is all.”

Draco made a sound in his throat and looked up. He was amused. They stared at each other in silence before Draco took his finger off the queen and moved one of the other pieces. Then he shifted in his seat. Running his hand along his jaw, he watched Ron.

“You’ll be going to your parents’ for the holidays?”

“Yeah, for most of it. You?”

Ron quickly looked at the board but found himself oddly distracted.

“Indeed. I’d rather go anywhere but home but… Mother would like me to go back to our manor. She’s already feeling lonely without my father and I can’t stand to disappoint her.”

“Why don’t you want to go home?”

A frown marred Draco’s face at the question.

“Bad memories, I suppose,” he murmured.

Guilt raced through Ron. Of course there were bad memories. Voldemort had only lived at Malfoy Manor for the majority of the war. Suddenly, Draco looked absolutely exhausted. His skin seemed paler, his body restless, the bags under his eyes more pronounced. Ron thought he could understand the sudden change; whenever someone mentioned Fred suddenly, or whenever he thought of his brother without warning, energy seemed to drain from him too.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He waved away Ron’s apology. “It’s simply the truth. You’re the only person who has asked me about going home. Other than Pansy, of course.”

“Is she going with you?”

“Hmm?”

“Parkinson. Is she, uh, going to visit you over Christmas? Harry always stays at the house with us.”

“Yes, she normally stays for a part of it.”

His heart was racing and it shouldn’t be, damnit. But it was. Ron decided not to examine the reaction to what Draco said.

“You two are together then?”

The words didn’t slip out, per se, but Ron was still surprised that he had asked the question. Draco’s head snapped up, eyes wide. It was simply a question. Parkinson had always been attached to Draco. They went to the Yule ball together. Of course Ron would assume they were dating. A natural curiosity, most would say. And it would be weird if Ron _didn’t_ know, since Draco was his friend.

“Are you and Potter together?”

“What? No! He’s dating Gin.”

“He spent holidays with you before he started dating your sister,” Draco pointed out, his voice carefully even.

“I only thought—she always seemed to like you and I wasn’t sure if it… was still a thing. Or a thing at all,” Ron ended inelegantly.

Draco tilted his head, analyzing Ron.

“She’s not my type,” he informed him. “I’m—well, I’m gay.”

Heat flashed through Ron’s body, Draco’s words echoing in his head. There was something lingering in the air between them—a certain nervousness.

“You’re—you’re—” Ron cleared his throat, hating how hard it was for the words to come out. Draco was watching him, waiting. It wasn’t hard for Ron to realize how meaningful it was for Draco to share this information with him. “You’re gay.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Draco looked back down at the board and made a move. Then he glanced up at Ron, smirking.

“Checkmate.”

Yeah. Checkmate.

Ron hesitantly smiled back.

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

_January_

_Week One_

The parcel wrapped in brown paper dropped heavy onto the desk, startling Draco to the point that he dropped the quill he had been holding. A scowl was already twisting on his lips when he met Ron’s gaze. 

“What is that?” Draco waved angrily at the package as Ron fell into the seat beside him.

“Mum made too much fudge for the holiday break. She made me and Gin bring some back to school.”

“And?”

“You’ve got a sweet tooth, don’t you?” Ron asked, leaning in towards him. 

Draco’s looked away from Ron and down to the package. 

“How do I know this isn’t some sort of trick? Your family isn’t fond of me, I’m sure.”

“Don’t be a git.”

Honestly, Ron hadn’t thought Draco would make a fuss over Ron giving him some of his mum’s famous fudge. But Draco stared at it as though it was something from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Draco’s hesitancy made Ron unexpectedly nervous. When Draco still didn’t move to take the package, Ron let out an exaggerated sigh and went to grab it back.

“It’s a gift, stop looking at it like it’ll bite you. I had only thought—”

“A gift?” Draco snatched the package out of Ron’s reach before his fingers could graze it. “You got me a Christmas gift?” 

“Yeah, I got you a gift.”

“Well, technically, your mother did.”

Ron rolled his eyes. Bloody ungrateful git.

“I find it highly unlikely that you spent anytime in a kitchen over the break,” Draco continued.

“I cook!”

“You can hardly brew a potion.”

“You said I’ve gotten better.”

Draco smiled.

“Yes, I suppose I did.”

Draco continued to turn the package over in his hands, examining it from every angle. Then he looked Ron in the eyes, something earnest and vulnerable shining through. It made Ron’s breath catch.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Ron’s heart fluttered. He tried his best to ignore it.

“So what are we brewing today?” Ron asked, leaning away from Draco.

Draco blinked.

“Oh, yes, let’s get started.”

~*~

_Week Two_

It was one of the few times this year that Harry and Ron were hanging out alone. Hermione and Ginny had agreed to meet up with Luna in the library. Dean and Seamus were in the common room. And Neville was off somewhere with Hannah Abbott. Ron and Harry were splayed out in their dormitory. Ron was on his bed, flipping through a Quidditch magazine. Harry was sitting on the floor, looking over his notes for Charms.

To be honest, it was the most relaxed Ron had felt in a long time. He forgot how much he enjoyed Harry’s company, even if they were only sitting in silence. 

“You’ve done this yet?” Harry asked suddenly, breaking the quiet between them.

Ron lowered the magazine.

“The homework for Flitwick? Nah. Finished Potions, though. It’s over in my bag, if you want to look at it.”

Harry scooted across the floor towards Ron’s bag and Ron went back to looking through the Quidditch magazine. The magazine had already been passed from Seamus to Harry to Dean then, finally, to Ron. The pages were worn and about ready to fall out. It didn’t stop Ron from barely holding back a shout of excitement when he saw there was an article on the Chudley Cannons. He should’ve been the first one to read this magazine! Why had no one told him the Cannons had done an interview? Honestly, did his dormmates even know him?

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this.”

Ron lowered the magazine again. Harry was looking over his homework for Potions, eyebrows furrowed. He looked up, meeting Ron’s gaze.

“I’m a bit rubbish with the stuff but I can try to help,” Ron offered. “Though Hermione might be a better option.”

“No, I mean I’ve been wanting to talk to you about Malfoy.”

_Draco._

The mere mention of Draco’s name made Ron’s breath catch. At the same time, his guard went up. Harry had barely mentioned Draco at all this year, except when Ron asked him about the Ministry trials and when Ron told him Draco was his tutor. It didn’t really make sense for Harry to bring him up right now. 

Ron waited for Harry to say something more, too worried that if he spoke he’d say something wrong. But Harry seemed to be waiting for Ron to say something too. It was a stalemate. Then, with a sigh, Ron forced his guard down. This was _Harry_ , his best mate. They could talk about anything.

“What about Malfoy?”

“He came up to me the other day and… he thanked me.”

Draco thanked Harry? 

Shock must’ve shone clear on Ron’s face for Harry laughed.

“Yeah, I know,” Harry said. “Weird, right? I had been waiting for Ginny to get done her Defense Against the Dark Arts class and Malfoy walked right up to me. I thought he was going to try to start a fight or something but he, um, he thanked me for what I did over the summer.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you could tell me, actually. Ginny thought you might’ve asked him to thank me during one of your tutoring sessions?”

Ron shook his head. Even if Ron had asked Draco to reach out to Harry, he wouldn’t expect him to actually do it. Draco listened to no one.

“I had—well, I had sort of thought it might’ve been because of how close you two have become.”

Sure that he had heard Harry wrong, Ron sat up in the bed. But Harry was staring at him expectantly; did he want Ron to confirm that he was friends with Draco? Studying his best mate’s face, Ron knew instantly that Harry wasn’t angry or upset. Whenever Harry was in the mood for a fight, Ron could tell. Harry wasn’t very good at hiding it. Right now, though, Harry seemed only curious. 

Instinct told Ron to deny his friendship with Draco. Over Christmas break, when he found himself thinking of Draco nonstop, he had almost been sick to his stomach. If his parents could hear his thoughts—or his siblings or Harry—

If only Neville hadn’t put the idea in his head about Draco, if only his feelings hadn’t begun to grow, if only Draco didn’t look so pleased to see Ron every time they came into view of each other, then maybe he wouldn’t feel so obligated to tell the truth right now.

“I don’t know,” Ron finally managed to choke out. “I don’t think Malfoy would say anything nice to you just because we’re friends.”

Harry shrugged, lowering his eyes to the parchment he held in his hands.

“Yeah, maybe not.”

Ron felt queasy. If Harry asked Ron to not be friends with Draco anymore, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Harry was his best friend. Draco was, well, _Draco_. A bully up until a few months ago. A former Death Eater. A Malfoy. A Slytherin. He had insulted Harry, Ron, and Hermione more times than Ron could count. But he was also honest and true and nonjudgmental of Ron. He was funny and intelligent. He was trying to make amends apparently.

The realization made Ron’s mouth go dry. That was it. Draco was trying to make amends. But why?

“I guess what I really want to say is that I know I haven’t been hanging out as much as I used to. Ginny is… well, I’ve missed her a lot. I hope you’re not mad at me for not spending as much time with you this year.” Harry rubbed his scar as he spoke. “I’m happy you’ve got Malfoy.”

Harry was apologizing for no reason. Draco was making amends and Ron didn’t know why. Was something going on today? But what Harry said made Ron’s shoulders sag in relief. He hadn’t realized he wanted to hear Harry say that until it had been said. Shooting Harry a crooked smile, Ron climbed off the bed and sat on the floor next to him.

“No worries, mate. After all, we spent most of last year together in a tent.”

A surprised laugh left Harry.

“Yeah, I guess we did.”

“And if I told you to stop spending so much time with Ginny, I think she’d kill me.”

Harry tilted his head.

“I don’t think so,” Harry muttered.

They fell back into a comfortable silence. Ron inhaled deeply and looked around the dormitory. Then he tensed up again as his thoughts strayed. Harry must have noticed for he glanced over at him.

“Alright?”

“Sort of,” Ron muttered before turning to face Harry completely. “Harry, can I ask you something that might sound… might sound a bit crazy?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember where Fred died?”

~*~

They hadn’t bothered starting a potion yet and Ron didn’t ask why. His gaze traced over Draco’s face, mesmerized by the slight smirk that teased him as Draco spoke. Warmth stirred deep inside of Ron. It took all his self-control to not reach out and run his finger along the curve of Draco’s lips.

“—even listening to me?”

Ron blinked and his face flushed; he could only imagine the dopey smile he had on his face.

“Never mind,” Draco drawled, eyeing him. “I already know the answer.”

“Is that answer yeah, of course I was?” 

Draco’s smirk widened, brightening his face. 

“I was informing you that these sessions are no longer mandatory.”

Ron jolted away from Draco as though he had been zapped by a stinging hex. His mouth opened and closed but no words came out. Draco cocked his head.

“There’s the response I was waiting for,” Draco said.

“I don’t get it. Why are they not mandatory now?”

“Not mandatory for _me_. You were the one who willingly signed up for them; there was no obligation for you to continue with tutoring if you didn’t want to.”

He was speaking gently but his tone didn’t help Ron accept what he was saying. Draco didn’t have to be his tutor anymore. The option of no longer meeting up Tuesdays and Thursdays was now available. This could be their last time meeting up if Draco wanted.

Did he want that?

“McGonagall told you this?” 

“Yes, only this morning. Apparently, she’s been feeling a bit guilty over her decision to punish me over something that happened months ago. I can still play reserve whether I tutor you or not.”

“So we’re done?”

Draco’s eyebrows knitted together and Ron’s face warmed. The worry that coated the question hung in the air between them. Ron looked away quickly and noticed that the cauldron was gone and no ingredients were laid out. His stomach sank. His eyes met Draco’s.

“You’re more than capable of finishing this year without my help, Weasley,” Draco informed him softly. “You know I wouldn’t tell you that if it weren’t true.”

It felt like someone had sucked all the air out of Ron’s lungs. He had been so excited to see Draco today, to be able to sit and talk with him, to ask him about Harry and to tell him about Fred and to listen to him talk about his weekend. Now, it felt like that opportunity had been stolen from him. Even Draco’s compliment couldn’t help ground him.

“I… appreciate that you were willing to work with me the last few months, in order to ensure that I was able to play Quidditch. Not many people would have been willing to do that for me. So…” Draco visibly swallowed when he paused. “So thank you, Ron.”

Goosebumps broke out across Ron’s skin. Draco rarely addressed Ron by his first name. The gratitude expressed made the conversation seem like it was coming to an end. Ron wanted to speak but his tongue felt swollen, his voice stolen, his throat closed. This wasn’t supposed to happen today. He had never thought these meetups would come to an end.

“Your mother’s fudge was very good,” Draco continued. “If I didn’t think she’d burn a letter from me immediately, I’d have sent her my thanks.”

Everything about this seemed final. This wasn’t right. Ron refused to believe their conversation was coming to an end, that _this_ was somehow coming to an end.

“This is for you.” Draco reached into a pocket in his robes and pulled out a bag. He leaned over and placed the gift in Ron’s hand. “I hope you enjoy it.”

Then Draco stood up, brushing off his robes, and began towards the exit. Ron reached out, grabbing onto Draco’s wrist in an attempt to stop him. It worked.

“Wait, wait—”

This can’t be it.

The four words refused to be spoken, though Ron hoped that Draco could somehow understand. Draco’s lips twitched and his eyebrows lifted.

“Weasley?”

“Congratulations,” Ron managed.

He released his hold on Draco. Draco didn’t stay to ask what the congratulations were for; Ron wasn’t quite sure himself. Congratulations on McGonagall realizing she was in the wrong. Congratulations on being free of these sessions, on getting two days of your life back, on not having to spend time in this classroom anymore. Congratulations on getting what you wanted. Draco left and Ron watched him.

When he realized he had been staring at the door far too long, Ron blinked and looked away. His eyes burned and he went to rub at them when he felt the bag in his hand. Draco’s gift to him. Ron hadn’t even   
looked at it. Glancing down, Ron’s confusion intensified. It was a bag of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans. He opened the bag carefully and took out one of the beans. What an odd gift.

It was only after miserably eating five of the beans, lost in his thoughts, that Ron realized what the gift was. When he looked through the whole bag, he found that it only contained his favorite flavors. 

~*~

_Week Three_

Ron hated that Neville put that stupid idea in his head. He hated even more that he now realized it was true. 

Ron Weasley fancied Draco Malfoy. It had been over a week since Draco had informed him that their tutoring sessions were done and Ron hadn’t stopped thinking about him since. The loss of contact with Draco felt like it was physically draining Ron. Whenever something happened during his day, he wanted to talk to Draco about it. He hadn’t even been able to tell Draco about Harry showing him the corridor that Fred had passed in—the random hallway that Ron had walked down at least once a day for the past several months. He couldn’t tell Draco the relief he felt, the way he had laughed hysterically, the way he had cried. 

The Slytherin had made no attempt to speak to Ron after last Tuesday. Ron couldn’t help but wonder if he had been more dependent on their friendship than Draco had been. Clearly, he must’ve been. If Ron had realized, he would’ve done better. He would’ve tried harder. 

Halfheartedly, Ron grinded the leaves to mush in the bowl. On his right side, Harry was doing the same, frowning. On his left side, Hermione was shoveling the paste she had made into her cauldron. Every few seconds, she’d shoot Ron a worried look. He tried to ignore her.

He knew Harry and Hermione could tell something was off with him. They always could. But he couldn’t tell them the truth. There wasn’t a point. 

As his gaze often did, it wandered from the potion he was making to Draco. 

“Ron?”

“Yeah?”

Hermione was gnawing on her bottom lip as she stared at him. He lifted his eyebrows.

“What is it?”

“You need to add the leaves in now,” she said, nodding towards his cauldron. “Or your potion will be ruined.”

“Oh. Thanks, Hermione.”

“Of course.”

He could feel her eyes on him, concerned. 

~*~

The common room was empty but only because it was so early in the morning. Ron sat perched on the windowsill, staring unfocused out the window. He had woken up over an hour ago, when the sun still wasn’t completely in the sky. For once, it hadn’t been a nightmare of Fred that stirred him from his sleep. No, this time he had woken up thinking about Draco, his stomach heavy. 

Ron missed him.

He missed him more than he thought he could. It was like an ache in his bones. Merlin, he just wanted to talk to the fool. But he never seemed able to catch his eyes, never seemed able to find Draco alone. It was like fate was purposely keeping them apart. Once upon a time, Ron would have been glad for it. Now, it felt like it was killing him.

So Ron had come down to the common room, needing to get away from his sleeping dormmates. Breakfast would be starting soon enough and the other students would be stirring. Time passed. The sun rose, shedding light across the grounds. And Ron thought about Draco.

“Ron?”

Ron looked away from the window to find Hermione hesitantly approaching him.

“Morning, Hermione.”

“You’re up early. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Woke up and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“Oh. Okay.” Hermione indicated to the windowsill with her hand. “Can I sit with you?”

Ron nodded, moving his legs to make room from her. She slid into the spot and lifted her legs up onto the windowsill so that she could turn and face Ron. Leaning her head against the window, she stared at Ron. He stared back, a small smile lifting his lips. Despite his rotten mood the past few days, Hermione had been kind and patient. 

“Sorry I’ve been a prat recently.”

Hermione shrugged.

“You haven’t been a prat.” His eyebrows rose and she smiled. “Not really. We’ve been much worse to each other.”

“That’s true,” he laughed. “We were awful to each other third year.”

“Yes, we were.” Hermione paused. “Last summer too.”

He stilled in surprise at her gentle admission. Her eyes remained locked on his but it was clear she was nervous. 

“I’m sorry things turned out the way they did, that I had never opened up to you—”

“Hermione—”

“Please let me say this. I’ve been wanting to for months now but, until recently, hadn’t known if I should. I should’ve spoken to you over the summer about… about everything. My parents and _Fred_.” Her voice shook over his brother’s name. Ron swallowed thickly. “I should’ve told you what I was thinking, what I was feeling. I just felt lost. I felt like I was going to lose you but I simply couldn’t make myself speak. But… but I think we’re better for it now, don’t you? As friends again.”

She was staring at him, eyes wide and pleading. As if she needed to know he thought the same thing. He nodded, because it was _true_. 

“I was worried about losing you too,” he admitted. “I’m happy we’re still friends.”

“Me too,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He leaned forward to brush some of her wild hair from her face. She smiled, her eyes wet, and he smiled back. The tension in the air seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had arrived. 

“What made you want to talk about it now?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you had wanted to talk to me about this for a while but didn’t think you should,” Ron recalled. “Until recently.”

“Oh.” Her face pinkened and his interest grew. “Well, I—I suppose because of Malfoy.”

His lips parted in surprise. 

“Malfoy? What about him?” Ron tried to ignore the high pitch of his voice. 

“You’ve been watching him.”

Panic raced through him at her matter-of-fact tone. 

“No, I haven’t.”

“Ron, I’m not—you seemed very happy when he was tutoring you.”

“What’s that mean?” Ron asked, more heatedly than called for. 

Hermione, though, didn’t seem to mind. 

“I had only thought… well, that you liked him. And that you were in a better place now because of it. I’m not sure I understand what, exactly, you like about Malfoy but… what?”

“You don’t care? That I—that I like blokes too?” 

Hermione blinked at his strangled question.

“Of course not.”

“I had thought…” Ron cleared his throat. “I thought you’d care. Because of everything that’s happened between us. I’ve always thought there were handsome guys, some really good-looking blokes, and I always thought there was beautiful girls, there was you, and… I didn’t think it really meant anything, that I thought both guys and girls were…”

“Attractive,” Hermione supplied softly, staring up at him.

Ron nodded, ears burning. 

“He’s been horrible to you, Malfoy has,” Ron said quietly. “He’s been horrible to all of us but especially to you, Hermione.”

“If you like him then something about him had to change.”

“I think I… I think I might’ve been starting to like him. Bloody Malfoy. Can you believe it?” Hermione didn’t react to what he said, as if she somehow already knew all this. Of course she did. She was Hermione. It made Ron feel better knowing she didn’t judge him too horribly for whatever he was feeling towards Draco. “But… but I don’t know if we’re friends anymore. He doesn’t even look at me.”

His worries earned a toothy smile from Hermione. She nudged him with her foot.

“He looks at you,” she informed him confidently.

“What are you talking about?”

“He looks at you too. It’s just when you’re not looking.”

~*~

It hadn’t been part of the plan to wander up to the sixth floor.

After speaking to Hermione, Ron had been ready to go down to breakfast with her and get something in his stomach. Their conversation left him feeling light and carefree—for the first time in months, he knew where he stood with Hermione and they were both happy about it. But when they started heading down to the Great Hall, Ron realized he wanted some time to think. Hermione hadn’t objected, offering him a quick hug, and they had parted ways.

Now he stood outside the classroom Draco had tutored him in every Tuesday, his heart thumping in his chest. He hadn’t come back here since Draco had informed him McGonagall was setting him free from his obligation to tutor Ron. Oddly, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to go into the classroom. It would be strange to see it empty. There’d be no cauldron set out, no ingredients or Potions book on the table. Ron had taken his chessboard last time; it sat unused in his dormitory.

Despite his reservations, though, Ron moved forward and opened the door. He didn’t want to move further in so he remained in the doorway. His eyes swept across the room, noting that the chair he had sat in when they played chess was still next to the teacher’s desk. Sunlight streamed in from the windows, highlighting all the dust floating in the air. The looked abandoned and unused again.

He drummed his fingers nervously against his leg. Why had he come here? It only made him feel worse; the happiness he had felt after speaking to Hermione ( _he looks at you too_ ) was slowly disappearing. If Draco looked at Ron too, wouldn’t Ron have felt it? Realized it some way? Perhaps Hermione had only told him that because they were friends and she was being nice. Ron reached up and tapped his fingers against his lips before finally making the decision to head back to the Great Hall. 

It was time to go.

It was as Ron was turning around that the sound of something falling echoed loudly in the corridor. Ron jumped in surprise. He had been so lost in his own thoughts he hadn’t even heard someone approaching him. He spotted the figure right away—

“Draco?”

Shock made Draco’s first name leave Ron’s mouth. The sound of something crashing must’ve been _him_. Draco was on the floor, face pink and mouth twisted in a scowl, further down the corridor. Ron would recognize the blond hair anywhere. Without realizing, Ron began to run over to him. When he went to help him out, Draco slapped his hand away before pushing himself to his feet.

Ron had never seen Draco look so disheveled. His hair had fallen out of place, his robes were wrinkled and dirty, his shoes scuffed. He looked utterly furious. It only served to make Ron’s heart race in excitement.

It had been far too long since Ron had the privilege of looking into Draco’s eyes.

“You okay?”

“Of course,” Draco spat, lip curled.

Ron found himself biting back a smile.

“Did you trip? Or—” Ron paused, eyebrows furrowing. “Were you running away?”

The words seemed ludicrous as they left Ron’s mouth. Draco wouldn’t run away from Ron. But as Draco’s face somehow pinkened even more, his scowl worsening, Ron realized it was true. 

“You didn’t want to see me.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud but, as the realization came to him, he couldn’t stop himself. Draco hadn’t wanted to see Ron. Draco had seen Ron and tried to get away so quickly he had fallen. He had run away from him. Merlin, it _hurt_ grasping that fact. Ron wasn’t sure if Draco could hear the pain in his voice but it didn’t matter, did it? 

It was hard to look at Draco now. Without another word, Ron turned and headed back the way he had come. After talking to Harry and Hermione, Ron had thought… His throat constricted. The past week and a half, Ron never would have thought Draco was purposely avoiding him. But now he couldn’t help but wonder if there was a reason their eyes never met across the Great Hall or during Potions class when it had so often happened before. 

Ron shoved his hands in his pockets and bowed his head, walking as quickly away from Draco as he could. Bloody hell, what had he been thinking? That he had some sort of chance with Draco Malfoy? That the past few months had actually meant something? He was an absolute idiot. Parkinson and Zabini had probably been telling Draco about how much Ron had been staring at him the last week and they’d all laugh about it later. 

Heat flashed through Ron and embarrassment settled hard in his stomach. He could hear Draco calling his name behind him but it sounded muffled; there was a ringing in his ears that didn’t go away even when he furiously shook his head. 

“Listen to me, damnit!”

The firm grip of Draco’s hand on his arm stilled him and Ron turned, jaw clenched. He couldn’t look him in his eyes so, instead, Ron stared down at the floor. Draco sighed through his nose before releasing his hold on Ron.

“I hadn’t expected to see you, Weasley.”

“So you admit it?” Ron asked gruffly. “You saw me and ran away? Couldn’t stand the sight of me? Stupid Weasley standing in your way?”

“Don’t be a fool. I only—it wasn’t—I hadn’t been ready to see you.”

“Ready to see me?” Lifting his head, Ron glowered at Draco. “What does that mean? You hate me that much, do you? I thought we were friends!”

Draco stilled, lips pressed together. Not for the first time, Ron despised how easily his words flowed from him when he was upset. It was clear now that Draco never viewed them as friends and he hated that he had even mentioned it to the prat.

“Just leave, Malfoy.”

Ron wasn’t sure he could stand the embarrassment of this conversation any longer. He hoped that by telling Draco to leave, he’d take his out. They’d never have to speak again. His breath caught in his throat at the thought of never speaking to Draco again.

Draco, however, didn’t leave. Instead, he tilted his head back to stare up at the ceiling. Then he let out a single sharp laugh and focused on Ron again. Ron tried to glare at him but he couldn’t. He didn’t _want_ to be angry at Draco.

“I didn’t want to be your friend,” Draco finally said. “I didn’t want any of it. I’m convinced the old bat did this all simply to torture me. So, yes, I took the chance at leaving the tutoring sessions with you. And, yes, when I saw you in the doorway of our classroom I tried to run. Filch must’ve cleaned these floors recently because I slipped and here we are.”

His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and he leaned against the wall as he finished speaking. Ron tried to figure out what he was supposed to say to all of that, to Draco’s confession, but nothing came to mind. It was probably because of the way Draco was staring at him; Ron never had someone look at him that way before. Vulnerable, resigned, amused. The three emotions twisted oddly on Draco’s face. 

He looked very handsome in that moment.

“I never wanted to be your friend, Weasley, because I had always wanted something more. I simply couldn’t accept that friendship was all I’d get.”

The words were slow to process in Ron’s mind but his body began reacting to what Draco said immediately. Ron took a step closer to Draco. Draco had wanted to be more than Ron’s friend. His lips parted and his breathing slowed. He had always wanted something more, that’s what he had said. Ron reached out and wrapped his hand gently around Draco’s neck; his thumb guided Draco’s chin upwards.   
Draco’s pupils dilated. Ron could feel his pulse quicken. 

Ron wanted to ask him how long he had wanted something more. Ron wanted to ask him why he never admitted it to Ron, why he had run away from Ron instead of facing their growing feelings head on. Ron wanted to ask him if this all meant what Ron thought it did.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” Draco breathed.

Ron took another step closer, backing Draco against the wall. Their chests brushed; Ron could feel Draco take a shuddered breath. Draco reached out and gripped Ron’s jumper by the collar, pulling his mouth closer to Draco’s. The warmth of Draco’s breath on Ron’s face made him pause. His body tingled in anticipation.

“Hurry the fuck up, Ron.”

Draco’s voice wobbled and Ron almost grinned—almost. Instead he gently pressed his lips to Draco’s, unable to tease him and make him wait. The sigh from Draco he received in response to the soft kiss made his decision to not draw out the tormenting worth it. Parting his mouth ever so slightly, Ron caught Draco’s bottom lip with his teeth and gave a tender tug. His blood sang, rushing through his body, when Draco released his hold on Ron’s jumper and ran his hands through his ginger locks. A shiver raced up and down Ron’s back, forcing a groan from him.

Every worry, every doubt, every dark thought—it all disappeared.

“I thought you hated me again,” Ron admitted when their mouths parted. 

His eyes traced over Draco’s face, admiring his wet lips, his flushed cheeks, his dark eyes. Ron had never seen Draco’s eyes darken so. 

“You got me a gift,” Draco responded, as if that explained everything.

Ron’s eyebrows ticked upwards.

“It was your mother’s fudge. I had never thought you’d gift me with something so…” His words died and Draco shrugged. Ron thought he might understand. It had been a personal gift. His mum had made it. Ron   
had brought it to Hogwarts and had thought of giving it to Draco right away. It had meant something. “I wasn’t sure you were interested in me.”

“I wasn’t sure either. Not until you stopped talking to me, I guess. This hadn’t exactly been part of the plan.”

His thumb stroked Draco’s throat, memorizing the bumps and ridges. 

“Who has time for planning?” Draco murmured.

Ron wanted to point out that strategizing was how he beat Draco in almost every game of chess. He wanted to tell him that his plans over the last few months, playing Draco in chess and apologizing to him on the Quidditch field, is what helped their relationship grow. But, this time, he was okay agreeing that not having a plan worked out well for them.

Ron leaned down and kissed Draco again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to show your appreciation for the author via kudos/comments below. ♥
> 
> This story is part of Ron/Draco Fest 2019, a currently ongoing anonymous fest. The author will be revealed in late March.


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